


The Fifth Bodt

by shingekinoyolo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Failed previous relationships, Hearts being broken, Hearts being fixed, Jean has a lot of girlfriends, Jean writes music, Jean's POV, Marco has a lot of sisters, Marco writes stories, Multi, Starbucks, eventual cutes and fluff, false declarations of no homo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingekinoyolo/pseuds/shingekinoyolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is just your average Starbucks employee, sleeping through his alarm, rushing to get ready and therefore being late for work every day. He's dated all four of the Bodt sisters without ever meeting their older brother, and when a man with freckles, a middle parting and captivating eyes becomes a regular at the coffee shop and their lives become hopelessly intertwined, Jean can't help but eventually fall for him.</p><p>(Ratings and Archive Warnings may change)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starting With A Breakup

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first proper fic that I've ever written so you'll have to bear with me and stuff. Hopefully I'll upload chapters pretty regularly though I don't know how often yet, so hey, this should be fun!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Jean, his girlfriend, and hearts are broken.

My name is Jean Kirschtein. I'm a pretty boring guy really, with a pretty boring life. Or at least, I did have a pretty boring life, until a certain bastard came along and twisted my entire world around. This is our story. The story of how my life became way too intertwined with the life of the fifth Bodt.

* * *

 

I remembered having a really weird, intense dream, but I'd already forgotten what it was about by the time I'd woken up. Something to do with space and a pretty girl, I remembered that much. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and rolled over to hit my phone to check the time. Shit. 7:42. I'd slept through my alarm again - I had eighteen minutes until my shift started, shit shit shit. Why did this always happen? I made a mental note to make my alarm louder.

I ran to the shower - no, I didn't have time for a shower, instead I decided to drown myself in the scent of lynx. I didn't bother to brush my hair, I didn't have time. It took ten minutes to drive to work, for god's sake. I threw on a white shirt and black skinny jeans, I couldn't afford to be late again, I'd get fired. I shoved my feet into my shoes and grabbed my car keys and my phone off the counter, and locking my door behind me, I ran down the stairs to my car and drove to work.

"WOAH HOLD ON NOW, WHAT'S THIS? KIRSCHTEIN'S ON TIME?" My co-worker Sasha bellowed at me when I walked through the door.

"Shut your face" I replied with a smirk.

"I guess there really is a first time for everything, huh?"

"Connie I do not need your sass this early in the morning." That shut him up.

It was usually pretty busy at this sort of time; Starbucks was the place that most people got their breakfast or a cup of coffee before heading off to work. ‘ _Lucky bastards, they probably wouldn't have to wake up until like, nine if they wanted to’,_ I thought. I took my apron from the peg on the wall and slipped my head through the loop of it, then tied the straps around my waist. Sasha, Connie and Ymir were already working the counter so I didn't have anything to do there. I decided that the food tray probably needed a bit of restocking by now. Yeah it was only eight am, but when Sasha works at a coffee shop, the food goes down a lot quicker than it should.

I walked into the back room to pick up another tray of breakfast muffins, and as I turned to walk back into the main room, I noticed a new customer in the queue. I don't know why this guy in particular caught my eye, he just... did. There wasn't really anything special about him that I could put my finger on, but I couldn't stop myself from staring - god knows why. He had short brown hair that was neatly cut and parted straight down the middle, which I would usually make fun of, but it suited this guy. He had freckles that ran across his face, from his left cheek to the right, over the nose in the middle too, which was pretty round but ever so slightly pointed on the end.

He looked up from his phone briefly and I realised what was so captivating about him. His eyes were this deep brown colour, like... like hazelnut chocolate, yeah. I didn't understand why no one else was looking at him; maybe they were just working too much. That made me remember the task at hand. Right. I was carrying a tray of muffins to the counter. Yeah. Obviously. Stay with it, Jean.

My day went on as it usually would from that point. Being grumpy, Connie badly mimicking me, Ymir not doing an awful lot and Sasha eating all the food (she kept "forgetting" that the employees weren't supposed to eat during their shift). I had my break at 10:30 like always, and I left work at three pm.

I started up my car and turned the radio on.

_“Star ships, were meant to fly / Hands up and touch the sky”_

“What is this shit?” I mumbled to myself as I turned the station over. None of them were playing good music today. Eventually I decided on just switching over to my iPod and I put it on shuffle. I found myself smiling when the first song played – it was our song. Mine and Hannah’s that is. I’m gonna be totally honest with you here, I don’t remember it all that well. I may have been a _tiny_ bit tipsy. I met my girlfriend in a bar last summer and apparently this song was playing when I bought her a drink, so of course she assigned it with the role of being our song.

The chorus began to play and I found myself singing along loudly, I didn’t care what people outside thought of the ‘weird man singing to himself in that car.’

“Say yeah / let’s be alone together / We can stay young forever / Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs...”

Before I knew it I was at the park where I told her I’d meet her, and she was already sat on the edge of the fountain when I walked over. Hannah Bodt. She was beautiful.

She had dark hair that settled somewhere half way between her shoulders and her waist. She had nice hips and, I’m not going to lie, she had good tits. Her eyes were this piercing green colour that she said she got from her dad, but let me tell you, they were definitely unique and I swear they changed by the time of day. In the morning they would be a teal colour, sort of blue but definitely still the green I knew and loved. Midday, they would be this gorgeous, bright green, but not like trees or grass or whatever, but picture that emerald ring that your grandma gave you. That colour. And in the evenings, that one was my favourite. They would turn this deep shade of green that were kind of brown in a way. She hated her “evening eyes” as we called them, but I loved them. They reminded me of a forest, the calming, cool evening breeze that came along with it. I loved her eyes. I loved her hair, her smile, her laugh. I loved her. But my absolute favourite thing about her? She had freckles all over her face. Freckles are my weak point.

I snapped out of my daze and got out of the car to go and meet her. She had her headphones in and she was looking down at her phone, so she didn’t see me approaching her.  
 _'Oh man, She’s either gonna hate me or laugh her ass off for this.’_

I ran the last few steps so that she didn’t have a chance to realise what was going on before I grabbed her and swung her over my shoulder. She screamed, and began to repeatedly hit my back with her hands curled up into fists. Probably not good. I started spinning around in circles with Hannah still over my shoulder, and her screams quickly subsided and transformed into a fit of giggles. Thank god for that. I put her down and kissed her forehead. She was quite a bit shorter than me, but not so short that it was weird.

“Hannah Bodt,” I began, “I have not stopped thinking about you all day and so tonight I would like to take you out to dinner, my treat.” She smiled at me, but something about her made things... I don’t know, not right. I couldn’t tell what it was.

“I.. I would love that!” She exclaimed, but she sounded too happy about it.

“Are you sure?” I asked her, you know, just checking.

“What? Yeah, honestly, I’d like that.” She looked much more natural now. Yeah, much better.

“Okay then, good.” There was a moment’s pause.

“Well anyway, uh, I have some stuff I need to do so uhm. Pick me up at seven?”

“Yeah, yeah that sounds good. I’ll pick you up at seven then.” She nodded at me, kissed me on the cheek and turned to walk away. “Wait, Hannah?” She spun back around to look at me, and she looked... _scared._ Like I’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing. “Are... are you okay?” I asked her. I was worried, she was acting odd.

“Yeah yeah I’m fine honestly! I’m all good. I’ll see you later.” She walked away, well, she almost jogged actually. Something was definitely up.

I decided to shrug it off and go home for now, I was sure she’d be okay again later, right? Something else was nagging me in the back of my head, though; something that was nothing to do with any of this. It was to do with the guy in Starbucks that morning. He looked... He looked a little like Hannah, apart from the eyes that is. Was that why I was so engrossed in him? It must have been. I mean, there wasn’t any other reason it _could_ have been, right?  
I spent the rest of the afternoon not doing a lot. Connie came over and we played video games for a while, but nothing else really. I kicked him out at 6:15 so that I could get ready to go pick up Hannah.

* * *

I knocked three times on her door and bounced on the balls of my feet as I waited for her to answer. I didn’t like dressing up, so wearing a black tuxedo was a big deal for me. I wasn’t just taking her out tonight because I loved her. I mean, I did, but I was mostly doing it because it was our one year anniversary. She answered the door and – damn. She was wearing a sleeveless sea green dress that brought out her eyes and came to just above her knees, with a white bow around her waist. From below the bow, the skirt of the dress had another layer on top of it of matching green lace made from flower shapes. She wore heels so that she was almost the same height as me, and her hair was done up into a bun that was created from a French braid on either side of her head that became intertwined at the back. She looked truly breathtaking.

“Hello,” she said.

“I... Wow.” Was all I could muster.

“I could say the same.” She said. I beckoned for her to come to the car and she followed me. People always told me that I was different around Hannah, and I’d never known if that was a good thing or not. I wasn’t sure if it made me a good different because she made me feel happier, or a bad different because I guess she never got to see me for how I was around my friends. Either way, I didn’t really care. She made me happy.

We spent most of the car ride singing along to our favourite songs and ‘serenading’ each other, if it counts as that. Neither of us could sing. She was still acting a little weird, but I couldn’t really work out what it was. She kept texting someone all the way there, which was unusual, because usually she liked it when it was just the two of us together. She would never text someone unless she really had to.

We pulled up to the restaurant and I opened the door for her. We looked a little out of place showing up in a Volvo next to all the Jaguars and Porches, but oh well. The waiter showed us to our table and we sat down to look at the menu. I noticed her biting her nails, she looked guilty.

“Hannah, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be one hundred percent honest with me.”

“What?” She looked stunned. “I’m always honest with you Jean, we’ve been dating for a year now.” I’ve got to admit, that threw me off a bit.

“Well, yeah, I know that, but.” I paused. I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but I had absolutely no fucking clue how to word it. _‘Is there anything on your mind?’_ sounded way too cliché. ‘ _Just wondering, are you like, cheating on me or something?’_ Would get me a smack across the face.

“Have I done something wrong?” Yeah, that was good, ten points for you Jean.

“What are you talking about?” Damn, -10 points, you suck, Jean.

“I just- I mean- you seem-“

“Jean!” She cut me off, just like that, and she seemed genuinely pissed at me. “Look, there’s nothing wrong, can we please just enjoy this?” She was trying to be calm, I could tell, but there was that look in her eyes, you know, that _‘leave me the fuck alone, I’m pissed off at you now but I don’t want you to know that so just shut the fuck up and it’ll be okay’_ look. So I did just that.

“Yeah, okay, sorry.”

There was silence for a minute or so as we looked at our menus, and the music changed. It was a bit of a weird song to playing at a restaurant like this, too. The guitar riff started and I could feel Hannah’s leg bouncing to the rhythm next to mine, so I began to bounce my leg with hers. She looked up at me from behind her menu and we made eye contact briefly. I could see her smiling. The lyrics started and I heard her humming along to the tune. I moved my left hand across the table to find her right one which was tapping the table to the beat, and I started to hum with her, our fingers lacing together. She put her menu down and stared at me, so I did the same. She had this massive grin that looked way too wide for her face, which made her look so cheeky. I couldn’t help but return it. The chorus started, and in the dead silence, we both seemed to forget where we were and that we were not six years old, and we sang along at the top of our lungs.

“JEALOUSY, TURNING SAINTS INTO THE SEA / TURNING THROUGH SICK LULLABIES / CHOKING ON YOUR ALLABIS / BUT IT’S JUST THE PRICE I PAY / DESTINY IS CALLING ME / OPEN UP MY EAGER EYES... / CAUSE I’M MISTER BRIGHTSIDE.”

I don’t really recall what happened, except that that next thing I knew was that we were laughing hysterically and practically falling out of the front door to the fanciest restaurant in Trost. We got kicked out, but I had had the Hannah I knew and loved back in that moment. The rain was falling heavily and my jacket was soaked through, so I seized the opportunity and pulled her into a kiss. I pressed my forehead to hers and whispered the three words that I felt like she really needed to hear that day.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

We ended up just getting a pizza at my apartment that night, followed by a comedy movie and cuddles, followed by her staying the night, if you know what I mean.

* * *

 

My alarm went off at 7:15.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I groaned. _‘The one day I don’t sleep through my alarm. The one fucking day.’_ “Hannah? I hate to say this but we have to get up now. I’ve got to work today.” She groaned and rolled over, which resulted in her falling out of the bed, which resulted in me laughing and rolling over, which resulted in me also falling out of the bed. We sat on the floor laughing for what was probably a good five minutes before I decided that I really did need a shower. So I had breakfast, brushed my teeth, the usual morning stuff, before I dropped Hannah off back at her flat and drove to work.

“FUCK YEAH, I’M EARLY!” I called as I opened the door, which caused 90% of my colleagues to applaud me with cries of “Woo!”s and “Yeah!”s and even a “Wait – KIRSCHTEIN?!” From Ymir. But get this –I got there before Sasha. I put my apron on quickly so that I could be complete and total jerk by acting like a butler to her when she showed up. I was in a good mood.

When Sasha did show up, (only about thirty seconds after I did, but that’s not the point), I bowed at her and handed her an apron.

“Good morning madam, I hope you slept well and that you have a good day ahead of you today. I would also like to point out that I GOT TO WORK BEFORE YOU! TAKE THAT!” She laughed and just called me a “preposterous knitting needle,” which was one of her best insults, and we went to work. I was working at the counter and I saw the guy from yesterday standing in the queue. Today, he was wearing a My Chemical Romance t-shirt and grey jeans. He looked good. I- you know, a guy can say that. It’s not weird. As I was serving the people before him, I felt like he was glancing at me every so often. I don’t know if that was paranoia or – wait, why would I be paranoid about something like that? Whatever. It became the freckled man’s turn to order.

“Hey, a Vanilla Macchiato please.”

“Yeah sure, what’s your name?”

“Marco.” _T_ _hat’s a nice name._ He seemed nervous ordering, but I guess that was probably just because he hadn’t been here much before.

“Thanks, Marco. I’ll call you over in a bit.” I flashed a smile at him before going off to make his Macchiato, and he went to sit down.

He seemed nice. I wanted to get to know him, but I didn’t know why. It was weird, I’d never found myself in a situation like this before where I actually _wanted_ to get to know someone.

“Marco?” He walked over to collect his drink and thanked me.

“Huh.” He said, I think it was more to himself than to me, but I raised an eyebrow at him as my way of asking him to elaborate.

“Oh,” He said, noticing me, “It’s just that the guy yesterday spelt my name wrong.”

“What?” I didn’t understand, which idiot could spell a name like _Marco_ wrong? “Who was it?” I asked.

“The little bald dude.” That made me laugh.

“Connie?” I called to him.

“Yeah?”

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Apparently you spelt ‘Marco’ wrong yesterday.” I was grinning, but I saw Marco blushing. “Sorry, Connie’s just a bit of an idiot.” He laughed.

“Wait, what? How are you supposed to spell it?” Connie was walking over to us, a muffin in his hand. Both of his eyebrow were drawn in and he looked confused as hell.

“M a r c o.” I spelled it out for him.

“Oh, I spelled it with a k.”  He said as he stuffed more muffin into his mouth.

“Jeez, how dumb are you, Con?” He shrugged and walked off and I turned back to Marco. “Sorry about that.” He flapped his hand in a way to say ‘don’t worry about it,’ as he gave me the money, smiled, and went to sit down.

* * *

That afternoon, my shift ended an hour early, so I thought I’d stop by Hannah’s house and surprise her. I didn’t really get to do stuff like that very often. I’d bought her a bouquet of white tulips because I knew that they were her favourite. I dropped by my house briefly so that I could get changed – only into a pair of blue jeans and a grey top, but it was better than my work uniform. I put on some more spray and left the house, keys in hand. As I drove to her flat I played my “feel good playlist” as I’d titled it, which contained some of my favourite songs such as ‘The Ballad of Mona Lisa’ by Panic! At the Disco and ‘The Best Thing (That Never Happened)’ by We Are The In Crowd.

I pulled up outside her house and walked up the steps to her front door. I checked my hair in my reflection in the letterbox before knocking three times like I always did with the bouquet in my hands. The door opened, but it wasn’t Hannah. In fact, they couldn’t have been father from being Hannah. They had very, very messy brown hair and greenish blue eyes. He had a rounded nose and a neutral expression, but he still looked slightly angry. Eren Jeager. He used to work at Starbucks with me until he got noticed by the local football team, and now guess what he does for a living. The thing that bothered me, though, was that... He was just wearing his boxers. I saw the bedroom door open at the end of the hallway and Hannah stepped out, wearing a blue dressing gown.

I froze. I knew there was something up, but... this? I didn’t know she was _capable_ of doing something like this.

“Shit.” I heard her say. “Shit, Jean, it’s not what it looks like.” She started forward towards the door and Eren moved out of the way. I heard him mutter to her “Isn’t it?” Before she scowled at him and stood in the door frame. For what felt like the longest moment, she stared at me, and I stared straight through her. Did the last year with me mean nothing to her? Everything we’d been through together, was it all wasted?

“Jean?” She was waiting for an answer. She’d said something to me, I could tell, but I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t c _are_ what it was.

“You... you cheated on me, didn’t you.” My voice was much quieter than I wanted it to be, and she just looked at me, she looked _apologetic._ “Well then.” I began, my voice louder this time, “take your fucking flowers,” I threw the bouquet at her, “and take your goddamn _life_ away from mine. I loved you. It’s fantastic to know that the feeling was never mutual.” I turned on my heels and began to walk away. I was a grown man. I didn’t ever cry. But this? This hurt like a bitch, and I was fully aware that in that moment, I could cry as much as I wanted to.

“Jean wait!” She called to me.

“What is it, Hannah? You want to tell me you’re sorry? It was an accident? This wasn’t meant to happen?” She swallowed and she looked like she was going to cry. I didn’t care.  
“I hope that you are Jeager are very happy together.” I walked back to my car, holding myself together, but as soon as I sat down behind the wheel, I held my face in my hands and I cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowee, so this is chapter one I guess! Please let me know what you think as this is my first proper fic that I've ever uploaded. So hey! Any feedback is welcomed and encouraged, there'll be new chapters regularly!  
> (/ ^0^)/  
> 


	2. The Story of the Bodts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn about Jean's stories with the three previous Bodts, and how they all ended horrifically.

Part 1 – The First Bodt

I was never really an attractive kid, I’ll say that much. I wasn’t necessarily _ugly,_ but you know, I wasn’t on the football team and I didn’t have any particular talents. I guess my face was pretty average, but other than that, I didn’t have anything going for me. So naturally, when I was fourteen and heard a rumour that thirteen-year-old Sarah Bodt had a crush on me, I seized the opportunity like nothing else. She was pretty, but not in a I-have-a-really-nice-body-and-face-oh-and-also-I-dance-and-play-instruments-and-I’m-basically-perfect way, more like in a I’m-pretty-cute-but-I-also-don’t-have-a-lot-going-for-me-so-Jean-I-think-we’d-be-good-together kind of way. She had short brown hair cut into a bob with a full fringe and she had really big, coffee brown eyes. Thinking back on it, they were actually scarily big. She had a very rounded nose and thin lips, but alas, no freckles. Maybe that’s why our relationship didn’t last.

I think it was a Thursday, sometime in the winter, when I plucked up the courage and asked her out. At the time I thought that I was desperately in love and that one day we would get married and that she was oh so perfect, but now I see that it was one of those typical childhood relationships where you just date someone for the hell of it.

We’d been dating for about two weeks, if I recall it correctly, and we were just getting to the stage where you’re comfortable holding hands and stuff in public when suddenly we started to become pretty damn popular. I mean, you know how it is in middle school. As soon as I’d gotten myself a girlfriend, apparently everyone else found me irresistible. I became “Jean Kirschtein, eighth grade heartbreaker.” Okay, so maybe that bit was a lie. But I did find myself being told that Lily had a crush on me and that Laura said I was cute or whatever. In fact, Sarah and I somehow managed to get ourselves invited to a “Christmas party” being thrown by some of the cool kids, which turned out to be a crappy disco, but it was impressive at the time. I’m not entirely sure why we were invited, I don’t think we knew anyone there, but we wanted to go. For the street cred and all.

That was the night I messed up with Sarah. We were in with the “wrong crowd” as your mom might have called them, the ones who drank alcohol and smoked and things like that. In fairness, I hadn’t drunk before and I didn’t again until I was of almost-legal age, but everyone else was drinking and I didn’t want to look like a loser in front of people who could potentially be new friends.

The hall that the party was being held in was fairly big. It was a simple rectangular shape with the two longer sides lined with a few tables that had snacks and party food on them. The back wall had a DJ desk on it with a middle-aged man behind it who I’d later found out was the host’s uncle, and there was a table to the left of that with champagne on it. God knows why the kid’s parents let them do this, they must’ve been a pretty fucked up family in my opinion.

The centre of the room was filled with people dancing and I think at the time they were actually doing the cha-cha slide. Or maybe it was the Macarena. I can’t really remember, it was a long time ago, but it was something like that. In the far right corner of the room, there was a group of kids playing truth or dare.

This was it. This was my chance to impress them.

“Come on, Sarah, we need to make a good impression!” I’d pleaded with her, until she eventually agreed for us to go and join them.

“Christa! Truth or dare?” One of the girls had asked.

“Uhm, truth.”

“Is it true that you have a massive crush on Jean?” I remembered feeling a surge of pride at that moment when Christa saw me and turned bright red. I didn’t even like her like that, but it made me feel great to know that someone _liked_ me. Fourteen year old me was kind of mean, actually. Then again, I guess I’m still kinda like that now.

“N- no!” She stammered. “No way!” There was silence. No one believed her. “I need the bathroom.” She got up and hurriedly walked away, and when she was out of earshot a bunch of the people in the circle began to laugh. I laughed with them, but I didn’t really mean it.

“Nice of you to join us,” One of the boys, Reiner, said.

“Give me a dare, then.” I said as I sat down. I was tipsy and feeling bold. Reiner whistled if to say ‘Wow newbie, I’m impressed,’ and I smirked in reply.

“Okay then,” he started, and a mischievous grin spread over his face. “I dare you to _slam dunk_ a burrito down Sarah’s bra.” There was laughter, and the next thing I knew I was staring, horrified at what I’d done, at Sarah.

To this day, I don’t know why I did it. Was I so desperate to impress the popular group that I’d embarrass my own girlfriend like that? But there it was, right in front of me, no matter how much I refused to believe it, there was no doubt that there was meaty filling staining her clothes, a burst burrito down Sarah Bodt’s bra.

She broke up with me there and then, before rushing off to the bathroom with one of the other girls to attempt to clean herself up. I made a few friends though, and they weren’t too bad either once you got to know them properly.

The next morning, I woke up with a slight hangover and several missed calls, angry voicemails and texts telling me how heartbroken she was from Sarah.

And thus ending the story of the first Bodt.

 

Part 2 – The Second Bodt

I was sixteen this time, and the past two years had been spent girlfriendless and hanging around with everyone I quite honestly shouldn’t have been friends with. That was until, of course, the second Bodt came along – Rachel Bodt. Rachel was the same age as me and therefore in the same school year, unlike Sarah who had been the year below. Rachel and I actually got set up by a few of our friends; it was in the summer holidays.

I’d been told that the entirety of my friend group was going to the movies and pizza hut for an end of year celebration, but nevertheless they all “got sick.” Every last damned one of them, of course, excluding myself and my to be girlfriend.

It was actually a pretty good first date, I did that really smooth arm trick where you pretend to yawn and put your arm around the girl, but it kind of went wrong and she thought she was being boring. I didn’t watch the film at all, I was too focused on keeping my breathing steady and desperately telling my heart to try and stay in my chest when she rested her head there.

The food was good too and to be honest we hit things off really well. We had a similar music taste and she had a really cute smile. It brought out her tender, grassy green eyes and it made her cheeks form dimples which were also created in the very corners of her mouth. Her hair was slicked back into a blonde ponytail and her cheeks were a soft pink, just about glowing.

She seemed pretty damn perfect at the time. But then, they always do, I find.

I’d later found out that she was the older sister of my previous girlfriend, but that didn’t really bother either of us, and Sarah had more or less forgiven me. It was two years ago, after all.

The mistake I made with Rachel wasn’t necessarily _with_ Rachel though, if that makes sense at all. I spent too much time with her, and I pushed away all my friends.  Whenever they called me trying to make plans, I’d have to cancel because Rachel would have wanted me to go bowling with her, or go ice skating with her, or go out to a restaurant with her, and I gave in too easily. I should have said no every once in a while, told her that I still needed to spend time with my friends. But I didn’t. I was always too caught up in being with Rachel to even think of standing up to her, to even think of my friends. Eventually, they stopped trying to make plans with me, and I never tried to organise anything with them. Without even knowing it, my girlfriend was taking over my life, and then it got too much. I didn’t have any friends left, all I had was her, and she... she started to get clingy. I mean, really clingy.

A little bit of clinginess in cute, like, it makes you feel like you actually mean something to the person, you know? But this? This was some next level shit. She would be texting me twenty four seven, I wasn’t getting enough sleep. If she saw me even _looking_ at another girl, I’d be in big, big trouble. If I was texting someone other than her, which most of the time was either my mom or my dad because, like I said, I didn’t really have any friends any more,  she would constantly nag me until I had convinced her that no, I was not seeing someone behind her back.

I couldn’t take it anymore. We’d been together for almost five months and I couldn’t stand to be around her, as harsh as it sounds. She really was taking over my life, so I broke up with her. Again, this ended in a lot of tears and the next day I had several angry messages from her and her friends calling me a ‘worthless dick who didn’t deserve someone like Rachel anyway.'

I tried to get back in touch with Reiner and some of the others, but they rejected me. Said that they were busy and already had plans. They gave me a taste of my own medicine, and it tasted something near a rotting carcass. I’d run out of places to go, of people to turn to. All I had left was my mom, my dad and a brainless, senseless bulldog puppy, Fleetwood. I wasn’t even that close to my dad, and I’d only had Fleetwood for a month or so.  

I tried to stay in touch with Rachel because she was a nice girl, she really was, but she thought I was just asking her to stay friends as a way to sound like less of an asshole, and she wasn’t buying it. I didn’t know what to do anymore, so I spent the remainder of my days in that school as just a lonely kid with no friends and nothing particularly special about him.

And thus, this ended my relationship with the second Bodt. Along with all of my friendships.

 

Part 3 – The Third Bodt

The story behind meeting Louise Bodt was my favourite, but there’s a bit of back story you should know for this one.

When I had just turned seventeen, I joined the local ice hockey team. I was almost slipping into a phase of depression so my parents had told me I needed to do something extra-curricular that would “lighten my spirits.” So naturally, I chose ice hockey. It actually turned out that I was pretty good at playing left wing, so that was where I stayed. The coach told me that I was a natural and sooner than I knew it I was playing on the official Trost ice hockey team. This was where I got reunited with my old friend, Reiner. He was a tall, muscular guy who had short-cropped blonde hair and thin eyebrows. He had a rather square-shaped head and thin, golden eyes, which were pretty damn cool. We practically hit it off again like we’d never stopped talking. From there he introduced me to his boyfriend, Berthold, who he’d met on the team. Berthold was even taller than Reiner, at least six foot, who had dark brown hair and a floppy fringe, and round blue eyes that were almost a grey colour – they looked like the sky when it may or may not be about to rain. He had a long face and a thin mouth. He was good with Reiner. Reiner also introduced me to their friend Annie, the only female on the ice-hockey team. Annie was reeeeeeally short. She had blonde hair that was always tied up in a loose bun that let her bangs hang loose. She had a long nose, thin pink lips, and clear, cold blue eyes that reminded me of ice. Annie had had this facial expression that made her look like she was one hundred percent fed up with everything, and during my time on the team and life afterwards, I discovered that she did in fact wear this expression all the time.

Louise and I were both eighteen when we met. I was in a match against Stohess and she was in the audience. She said her brother had wanted to come to support his friend so she went with him, but they ended up being seated away from each other anyway. In the four months that we were together, I never met her brother.

It was mid-game and I was really in the zone of playing. The puck was coming towards me at full speed, sliding across the ice. I skated towards Annie with it, intending on passing it to her. I raised my stick back, forward, and hit it... with too much power. It flew straight over the barrier and into the audience, and a girl sat in the third row caught it. She just... caught it. She stuck her hand right up and caught the puck in the palm of her hand.

We took a break for me to go and retrieve the puck and I saw that the girl was really cute. She had blonde hair, down, just below shoulder length and a side fringe. She had misty green, angled eyes that looked like the view you would get if you were staring at a tree through fog. Her nose was petite and she had a rather round head which complimented her features.

“Hey,” I’d said to her. She was sat on the edge of the row so it was easy for me to get to her. “You uh, I believe you have something that belongs to me.” I had a thing with trying to be smooth. She smiled at me and handed me the puck, and I smiled back, although I wasn’t sure if she could see it that well as I still had my helmet on. So, I took it off.

“Actually, have you got some paper I could use? And a pen?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, before picking up her handbag and digging around in it for a moment.

“Here.” She handed me the pen and paper and I muttered a thanks before writing down my number. That was when the whistle blew to say ‘Hurry up Kirschtein, we need to resume the match.’

“You should hold onto this.” I winked and gave the pen and paper back to her before putting on my helmet and walking back down to the rink. I saw her smirk out of my peripheral vision as she unfolded the paper.

That night, she’d texted me and I found out that her name was Louise. At first it didn’t go as well as my previous relationships, but over a few weeks we built something up and exchanged Skype names.  I rang her and we talked and from there we were really getting somewhere, I could feel it. It was in one particularly interesting call a month or so later that I saw another girl walking behind her in the kitchen wearing her pyjamas.

“Wait. Sarah?” I squinted and leaned forwards to check if I was right. The girl had stopped and turned around.

“Jean? Jesus, will you stop dating all my sisters already?” She asked before rolling her eyes and walking out of the room with a glass of water in her hand.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” I called, before quietly adding “yet.”

“What was that?” Louise demanded from me, smiling as she leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands.

You can pretty much guess what happened from there.

So I was dating Louise Bodt, the third Bodt, and things were running smoothly... Until I ran over her cat.

It was an accident! I don’t purposely drive around hitting peoples’ pets, I swear. The cat was fine, it just had to have its tail amputated. She dumped me then, just like that. She said that she couldn’t even look me in the eye anymore because her beloved Robin now looked like a small sheep. That relationship’s ending didn’t hurt as much as it probably should have, I guess it was because it was over something so stupid. If she cared about her cat’s tail more than she cared about me, the relationship probably wasn’t worthwhile. I paid for the amputation though, I wasn’t that harsh. And it was bloody expensive, let me tell you. I stopped playing ice hockey shortly after, when I was nineteen. It didn’t give me the satisfaction anymore and I didn’t feel the support as much as I was used to because Louise had stopped going to the matches. I stayed in touch with Reiner this time who remained my best friend, and I made sure not to lose my friendship with Betholdt and Annie, too.

My time playing ice hockey was over, and thus my relationship with the third Bodt was officially over too.

I met the fourth, my favourite Bodt, two months later. We were both nineteen.

 

Part 4 – Back To Where We Were

I slammed my apartment door closed behind me and sank down it until I was slumped against the wall in the foetal position. I rested my head against my knees that were tucked tightly into my chest and I grabbed my legs loosely with my arms crossed over them.

I didn’t cry.

I wouldn’t cry.

I cried. I sat curled up against my front door for a minimum of half an hour before I felt a heavy weight collapse onto my exposed feet. I looked up from my knees to see that Fleetwood was trying to comfort me. It may not seem like it, but that was his way of saying ‘You’re alright because I’m here, and if I’m here you have to be alright because I’m perfect.’ My four year old boxer dog thought himself superior to everyone and anyone else in every possible way.

“Come here,” I mumbled quietly, more to myself than to Fleet because he was pretty much deaf anyway. I shuffled around on the floor until I was lying down next to him and rubbing his belly.

“You’re a lucky little son of a bitch, you know that? You’re probably never gonna know heartbreak, never gonna have your girlfriend cheat on you with someone you didn’t even like in the first place.” I patted his stomach a couple more times before standing up and walking past the TV to the couch in the middle of the room.

This was where I debated between doing a few things: invite Reiner over, invite Connie over, or play guitar.

I decided on inviting Reiner. If I played guitar there was almost a certain chance that I’d get all soppy and write a stupid love song or something, and no offence to him, but Connie was a little insensitive to topics like this one. Reiner was a big guy, you might not expect him to understand, but he was one of the few people that actually did. He had experience. I pulled my feet up next to me on the couch and texted Reiner.

**To: Reiner, 16:06  
                You free rn?**

**From: Reiner, 16:09  
                Yeah,  what you want?**

**To: Reiner, 16:10  
                I feel like shit. Come play video games with me or something?**

**From: Reiner, 16:12  
                I’ll be there ASAP**

**To: Reiner, 16:13  
                Thanks, oh and don’t worry, I’ll shut the dog in the bedroom.**

I got up from the couch and slipped my phone into the back pocket of my jeans before leading Fleetwood into by bedroom, where he jumped straight onto my bed against the back wall, and shutting him in there. Reiner had a massive fear of dogs. It was kind of funny, for such a menacing guy like him.

I was browsing through my Xbox games when there was a loud, booming rhythm of knocks on my door followed by “I’m here to cure your sadness and play video games and steal your Wi-Fi!”

“It’s open!” I called, and he tried to open the door. I’d forgotten I put the latch back on.

“No it isn’t” he said, laughing, so I got up to open it for him.

“Sorry. What game’re you in the mood for?” I asked. He flopped onto the couch and sprawled his arms out across the back of it. He let out a sigh and a very long ‘Hmm,’ until we decided we would play a multiplayer racing game.

“Can I ask you why you have a case of the sads, then?” He asked a few minutes into the game. He was glancing between the television and my face, one eyebrow raised.

“I guess so, yeah.” I crashed my car and decided to stop there, but Reiner kept driving. “It’s Hannah.” He paused the game.

“What? Wasn’t it your one year thing, like, yesterday?” I hadn’t even thought of that, and it made the black pit in my stomach feel even deeper and even emptier.

“Yeah.” I paused and he stared at me, his eyebrows drawn in, ready to listen with his legs curled up. He was too big to do that, especially on my couch. I told him everything that had happened over the past few days with as much detail I could give without breaking down again.

“...So I shoved the flowers in her face and basically told her to fuck off.”I heard my voice catch at the end, going something like three octaves higher than I wanted it. Reiner’s eyebrows were raised and his mouth was hanging open. He didn’t say anything; he just engulfed me into a massive bear hug to comfort me. I was glad I invited Reiner.

“Jean,” He said, pushing my shoulders away from him gently as he checked his watch. “I have to go now because I told Bertl I’d meet him, and I know this probably isn’t what you want to be hearing right now because I know you were with her for a year, but you’re only twenty and if she wasn’t the one for you, you’ve got to realise that that means that someone else _is._ You need to go out and look for them.” He gave me a light smile before standing up and walking over to the door.

“You’re wrong.” He turned around and opened his mouth to speak, to convince me. “That was exactly what I needed to hear.” I flashed him a smile and he returned it before walking out of the door.

“Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” I nodded, and he closed the door behind him. Reiner was a better friend than I gave him credit for, and that night, I slept a lot better than I was expecting to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, chapter two! I'm a lot happier with the way this one turned out than I was with chapter one, but hey-ho. Please leave a kudos to let me know you enjoyed it and remember that any commented feedback is welcome! (Don't worry, Marco will be in this soon, I promise, just bear with me for story purposes!)


	3. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean gets payback on a certain ex-girlfriend and finds himself a new roommate.

I woke up at five in the morning, a whole two and a half hours earlier than I needed to. There was no point trying to go back to sleep, so instead I laid in bed for an hour, rotating between playing games on my phone and lying still, thinking about Hannah.

At six fifteen I rolled out from under my covers and took two steps to open my wardrobe. I pulled out a clean white shirt and black jeans, the same outfit I had to wear every day for work. I left my room and walked through the open pan apartment to the bathroom where I took a shower. Ten minutes later I emerged from the steaming water and got dressed. I ate some toast and brushed my teeth, and then I stared at myself for a moment in the mirror.  
‘ _You have to try to brace yourself today. As much as you can, try to act as if nothing happened.’_

I took a nap because I was still pretty tired, and woke up too late.  
“Shit.” I whispered breathily before stretching and walking out of my apartment. _  
_“Just try to make it through today.” It was a Wednesday, so that meant that tomorrow was my day off anyway. I didn’t work on Thursdays or Sundays. I know that working in Starbucks was a pretty lame job for a twenty year old to have, but it just about got me the money that I needed and I was determined to get somewhere with my guitar and my songs. I’d tried to sell a couple of them before, but no luck.

‘ _Just one day, Jean, you can do this.’_ I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before getting out of my Volvo and walking to Starbucks. I bounced on my feet for a moment before I walked in. I was late again.

Straight away, Sasha looked at me and whispered something to Connie. He nodded along and gave me an apologetic smile. It looked like the news had already spread. I tied an apron around my body and started serving the customers. It felt like time was passing in slow motion, like it was taking hours, days, weeks, for my break to come.

Eventually, the door swung open and Marco, the freckled man, walked inside wearing a pair of mustard shorts and a plain, white top. He had a bag swung over one shoulder and a phone in his hand, exactly the same as the past two days. It was nearing his turn to order and I found that I wanted to be the one to serve him. I wanted to talk to him again; he’d made a good impression on me yesterday.

“Hey, a vanilla Macchiato, please.” He said as he looked up and slid his phone into his back pocket.

“You have absolutely no imagination, you know that?” I said. He looked surprised that I was talking to him. I suppose it was pretty unusual for an employee to voluntarily interact with a customer, especially me.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s exactly the same order you got yesterday.”

“...So?” His eyebrows were tied together above the bridge of his nose.

“Well, you know, you might as well mix it up a bit.” Marco smirked.

“Well then what would you suggest I got?” I gave him a witty half smile.

“I don’t know? I just work here.” He showed me a toothy smile this time and his mouth opened a bit, his lower lip curling over his bottom row of teeth. His lack of response indicated for me to go and make his drink, so that was what I did. A little while later, I called his name and he walked over to me and picked up his cup.

“Marc.” He said, just as I was about to turn away.

“Pardon?”  
“Marc.” He repeated himself before turning the cup around so that the name faced me. I had, in fact, written ‘Marc’ by accident.

“Ah.” I started, and puffed some air out from my nose as an almost-laugh.

“You’d made such a good impression too, being the first one to spell my name right and all.” He paused and squinted at my tag pinned to the strap of my apron.

“Jean,” He read, but incorrectly. He’d elongated the ‘e’ and the J was too harsh. It was supposed to sound more like a ‘sh.’

“Jean.” I corrected him, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

“Jean.” He repeated. I smiled to let him know that he got it right. “Well then, Jean, you’ll just have to do better tomorrow.”

“Afraid not, Thursdays and Sundays are my days off.”

“Fine then, Friday.” He had his eyebrows raised in a challenging way, and I responded with the same expression before he sat down and pulled a laptop out of his bag and began typing away furiously, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. It was hypnotic, watching him type, and my ten thirty break came around very quickly. I think Marco saw me staring at him as I was taking my apron off, but I wasn’t sure. I turned my gaze away pretty quickly.

As expected, I wasn’t really with it at all that day. I kind of zoned out, like someone had put me on a robotic setting where everything that I needed to do was already set out and planned for me. I got home and talked on the phone to Connie for a bit, which turned out to be about an hour. He was much more supportive than I’d expected him to be. I thought that he’d jump straight in with calling Hannah all these horrible names, but he didn’t, because he knew that wasn’t what I wanted or needed him to say. He did pretty well, by Connie’s standards.

* * *

The next morning was fairly shit. It was one of the few days that I’d found myself wanting to go to work, just because it would have taken my mind off of everything. Well, more than being at home did, anyway. I spent the majority of the day packing a bag of Hannah’s various belongings that were scattered around my house. Her spare shampoo in my bathroom, her pyjamas in my drawer. I took Fleetwood for a walk around the block and into a nearby field where I let him run around for a bit chasing pigeons in the afternoon, and just because, I stopped in at Starbucks at around four. I didn’t really want anything, I just wanted to talk.

“How’re you holding up?” Sasha asked me, leaning over the counter to hold the conversation.

“Okay, I guess.” The pit in my stomach had shrunk slightly throughout the day and I’d found that the sadness had been replaced with anger. “Haven’t heard anything from her yet, I’m about to drop this off at her house.” I held up the small bag of Hannah’s belongings for her to see.

“Wait, after what she did, you’re actually going to just return that stuff to her?” I hadn’t thought about it that way.

“Well yeah, I guess s-“

“Ymir?” She interrupted me, and the tall brunette was already strolling over to us with a tray of cookies, from which Sasha had already stolen a few. Ymir was tall, tanned and freckled, and she had fairly narrow brown eyes that could be mistaken for a very dark green.

“Let me guess, you want the tractor?” Ymir lived on a farm, so she was licensed to drive tractors and diggers and all of the cool machinery.

“Not exactly. We need a revenge plan.”

We started to think of ways for me to get back at Hannah, and with Sasha and Ymir’s combined evil genius, it didn’t take us long to think of something. Our initial plan was to leave one of Ymir’s cows outside Hannah’s house wearing her clothes, but we decided that it was nearly impossible and there was no way Ymir’s dad would let her do that. Eventually, we had a plan involving Couscous (Sasha’s teacup pig), a very tiny trailer, Hannah’s favourite shoes and quite a bit of running.

* * *

It was six o’clock in the evening that night when Sasha and I pulled up outside Hannah’s house; Ymir was waiting for us elsewhere. We tried to be quiet and to stay low down as the front windows to the house were open, so we didn’t want to attract attention. It didn’t take long to set things up.

Couscous was wearing a little bell and a short lead tied up to a small red trailer behind him. Placed inside the trailer was Hannah’s favourite pair of black heels, the ones that she had worn the night we got thrown out of a restaurant for singing Mr. Brightside. Sasha had a plastic bag full of couscous to use as piggy-bait, and when I asked her, she told me that it was his favourite. She had hosted a house party very soon after buying the pig and he had eaten every last bit of the couscous. Hence the name.

I was already stationed around the corner from the end of her drive when Sasha rang the doorbell and ran to join me. The door clicked a few times before opening, and Hannah appeared from behind the gap, where she squeaked in shock from the small animal on her doorstep.

“COUSCOUS!”  Sasha yelled, and the pig turned around to look at her, or, to look at the bag of cuscus that Sasha was holding. I swear to god, the thing looked possessed or something, and suddenly everything kicked into action. Couscous charged at us, dragging the trailer and the shoes behind him, causing Hannah to leave her house in order to jog after the shoe thief. The two of us started to run, myself in the lead and Sasha tailing behind to direct the pig.

“Still got her?” I called behind me, and there was a moment’s pause as we waited for Hannah to turn the corner after us.

“Still got her!” Came the reply.

We continued to run down paths and turn corners. My breathing was fast and my heartbeat even faster, the adrenaline of getting back at the girl who’d broken me filling my bones, my veins, my head, my heart, me. My hair fell down over my eyes a few times when it was struck by the strength of the wind and I tripped once or twice when I glanced behind me. We ran across a small field and through an alley into another, larger field, where Ymir was waiting for us beside a large oak tree.

As we had been leading Hannah to the tree, Ymir had been dealing with her end of the plan by hanging my ex-girlfriend’s possessions in various different branches of it. She saw me and ran behind a nearby bush out of sight.

“Ymir’s ready!” I told Sasha as we turned the final corner. I ran to join Ymir behind the bush and Sasha arrived shortly after, stopping briefly only to drop the bag of couscous at the base of the tree.

Hannah came into view, and the look on her face was the face that used to make me want to hold her and tell her that everything would be okay. The face that made me want to kiss her softly and tell her that I loved her. But now? Now it was the face that I wanted to see. Our plan had worked, and suddenly I wasn’t mad any more. I felt like I’d accomplished what I needed to, that I had _beaten_ her.

She climbed the tree and collected her things, and as she left I have to admit that a part of me did feel slightly guilty, but not as much as the part of me that felt great fulfilment. Sasha collected Couscous, the trailer, and what was left of the actual couscous before we walked back to my car to celebrate with rolled down windows and loud music.

* * *

“Good morning!” I gestured towards the general area of my colleagues, stretching the sound of the double ‘o’ for a long period of time. I’d decided to try to embrace things the next day, I wasn’t getting anywhere by moping around and sulking to myself. Besides, I’d gotten my own back on Hannah now. I needed to move on.

“I bet ten bucks Jean got laid last night!” Marlow cried. He was stood near the back of the room. I didn’t know him very well at all; I was surprised he even knew my name. I winked at him, boosting his suspicions, and other people began to get on board.

“I bet ten he realised he was being a mopey git and decided to sort himself out.” Ouch, Connie sure had his way with words.

“I bet fifteen he’s got a new crush!” Came the contribution from Hitch, Marlow’s girlfriend. The two of them were friends with Annie, I knew that much, but other than that I didn’t know either of the pair particularly well.

“I bet twenty he got revenge on Hannah!” Sasha as good as yelled across the room of workers. She smiled toothily at me. Cheeky. I was sure that Ymir would have already beaten her to making that bet if she had been there – Ymir didn’t work on Fridays.

“Goodness, Sasha, how ever did you know?” I rolled my eyes and made sure that my response was coated thick with sarcasm as her begrudging friends dealt out their money to her.

“I’ve got to be honest, guys; I’m insulted that you assumed something had happened to make me feel this way!” I dramatised, clutching one hand over my chest and swooning the other across my forehead.

“Okay Jean, no one, and I mean no one, gets over something like that so easily having not done something about it.” Connie had a point. “So, what _did_ you do, exactly?”

I told Hitch, Marlow and Connie all about Couscous and the trailer and the running and the tree and everything else that was involved, as well as ensuring to give a tiny bit of credit to Sasha and Ymir. I watched their expressions change with the progression of the story, their grins getting wider and eyebrows rising higher. By the time I got to the ending, Connie’s eyebrows looked like if they got any higher they would fall right off his face. Marlow clapped me on the back supportively and Hitch gave me an impressed nod. Connie freaked out a little and hurried off to tell Sasha of her “geniousness,” as he had called it.

Ten o’clock rolled around rapidly, which I had learnt as my queue to expect the arrival of a certain freckled customer with the captivating eyes. That day, however, he didn’t arrive until 10:25, only five minutes before the end of my shift.

“Vanilla Macchiato, right?” I asked when he finally did turn up. He looked up at me, and he looked kind of nervous.

“Not today, no.” I raised my eyebrows inquisitively.

“Being adventurous, are we?”

“Maybe a little bit. Hey, Jean, your break’s at ten thirty right?” How did he know that? My brain decided to show me a little flashback at that point to when Marco had, apparently, seen me leaving for my break yesterday.

“Uhm, yeah.” Where was he going with this?

“Do you wanna grab a coffee of something? This is weird, but there’s something I want to ask you.”

Well that sure as hell was new. I folded my arms over my chest and shifted my balance so that more of my weight was on my right leg.

“Sure, why not?”

“R-really?”

“Yeah.” I wondered what he wanted to talk to me about, I barely knew the guy. But he seemed so innocent that I couldn’t really think of a reason to say no, and I began to wonder if he was genuinely like this; if he was actually a sweet, innocent guy with nothing to hide. It was either that, or he was secretly a psychopath or something. I hoped that the first idea was closer to the truth.

“Okay, then. Bring over two of the chef’s favourite when you’re ready, yeah?” I nodded and he walked away to find a table, and it took me a moment to realise what he’d just done. Sweet, dearest little Marco had already tricked me into buying his morning coffee.

I liked this guy.

Within three minutes my break had started and I was walking over to Marco’s table, two caramel frappuccinos in hand, where he was typing away at his laptop like he did every day. As I sat down opposite him, he closed the lid of his laptop and took the drink I offered him muttering ‘thanks’. He held the cup tightly with both hands, presumably to keep himself cool. That day was hot enough to cook a whole chicken, and our air-con was broken.

“Okay,” He started, “I’m going to get straight to the point, and I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a bit of a dick so you’re going to have to bear with me.” I nodded, and he continued after taking a deep breath and looking at me in the eyes.

“So I’m writing a book, right?” He gestured towards his laptop, “And it’s going great and everything, but that’s my only job so I’m kind of tight on money right now.” I felt a burning feeling in my throat, was he about to ask me for _money?_ This kid, who I barely even knew, when I myself wasn’t in the best place for cash either, was going to ask me for _money?_ He must have seen how I was feeling from my expression or something because he threw his hands up immediately and he looked apologetic, auburn eyes wide in defence.

“I- I’m not gonna ask you for money or anything! Don’t get the wrong idea!” I relaxed at that, and he continued. “Okay. This is the bit that’ll probably ruin everything. I’ve been asking around and looking for someone to rent out the spare room in my apartment to, and by doing that I traced back to you. You see, I’ve been told that...” He paused, looking down at his hands and moving his thumbs idly across each other. I couldn’t remember when he put the cup down. “I’ve been told that you’re in a similar place to me.” His gaze shot back up to meet mine and I swallowed hard. He was right, he did kind of sound like a dick, but it was the truth. I was kind of tight on cash due to my songs not selling and if he was trying to ask what I thought he was, it made a lot of sense. I didn’t say anything, and he started to talk again.

“So I guess what I’m asking is – if you want to, of course. I mean, it would just make a lot of sense and-” He rambled towards the end and his voice became quiet.

“Marco.” I stopped him from talking. “I actually think that’s a really good idea.” And I did, in all truth. Sure, I liked my apartment, but renting out Marco’s spare room would be a lot cheaper for both of us. He seemed nice enough, too.

“Wait, you do?” I nodded and tried to hold back a laugh.

“If you didn’t expect me to agree then why did you ask?” He shrugged and blinked simultaneously, the corners of his mouth briefly pulling down as his eyebrows pulled up.

“It was worth a try either way, wasn’t it?” I jerked my head to the right in agreement and we spent the rest of my break discussing how we were going to go through with the moving out and when we’d get the paperwork and me seeing the house and other such things. I made sure to let him know that I had a dog, and he told me luckily that he had always wanted one. We decided together that Marco would meet me back at Starbucks at three because he had some errands to run and it was when my shift ended. That was when he would give me the ‘grand tour’ of the apartment before we went any further with the plan.

I needed to see the place I was going to live in, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to upload this tomorrow but I guess I just couldn't resist! As you can see Marco's finally getting into the story, huzzah! Keep leaving feedback in the comments and leaving kudos and whatnot to let me know you enjoy reading, and yeah! Thank you all for reading I love you<3
> 
> (Also I'm going to totally self promote and let you know that both my twitter and tumblr have the username shingekinoyolo just incase you wanted to follow me or whatever) :3
> 
> EDIT: Yes I did change the way Couscous was spelt because a wonderful user pointed out to me in the comments that the way I had written it before was in fact a type of possum.(Ahah thank you again my love).
> 
> ALSO I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW MUCH SUPPORT THIS FIC IS GETTING IT'S ALL SO SURREAL I LOVE YOU ALL GAH I REALLY DO<3


	4. White Tulips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean hopes to God that he's wrong

 The apartment building itself was fairly modern. More modern than mine, at least. Marco’s apartment was on the top floor of the building and he claimed to have access to the roof too, even though he said that he technically wasn’t allowed to go up there. You could choose between going up a billion flights of stairs and using the elevator every day. Marco had decided to point out the very, very obvious and tell me that the latter was much easier.

We reached the top floor of the building and I waited with my hands in my pockets as Marco fumbled with the keys by his door. He muttered something about all of his keys looking the damn same before finding the correct one and swinging the door ajar. He opened his arms wide as he stepped backwards into the apartment.

“Exspectata ut meus domus!” He beamed, until our eyes locked and he began to rub the back of his neck, his gaze shifting to the floor. “It’s Latin or something...”

“For?”

“Welcome to my house.” I nodded.

“I see.” If he could speak some Latin, he was probably a bit of a nerd, and I later found that my suspicions were correct. At least that meant that the apartment wouldn’t stink of drugs.

The general layout of things was fairly similar to the apartment I was currently living in, the only difference being the furnishing and which room was designated to which area.

When the front door was opened, you walked into the left of the living room straight away without a hallway.  There was a cream couch in the centre of the room with beige and brown cushions across the back of it and opposite that was a television linked up to a DVD player and an Xbox. Between the two was a small round coffee table with three remote controls upon it laid out in a perfectly straight line. To the right of the couch was a large window which Marco was currently trying to open, (with great difficulty I might add), and against the back wall was a large docking station and a few of Marco’s family portraits with a door to the left of it.

To the left of the living room on a slightly raised platform was the kitchen, its two walls lined with counters except for where there was a fridge, an oven or a sink. In the one and only corner of counters in the room was a coffee machine – that made me happy. In the centre of the kitchen was a table with two chairs behind it and upon the white surface was a vase of... white tulips.

White tulips. They were her favourite.

_‘Not now, Jean. Not now, please, goddamn it keep it together.’_

“Well?” Almost as if on cue, Marco snapped me out of my daze and I noticed that as I had been looking around he had moved over to the couch and that he had eventually succeeded in opening the window. Or in fact, the door.

“You have a fucking _balcony?_ ” I gawked whilst using my right arm to gesture towards the glass double doors. Marco let out a short laugh.

“That’s not even the best of it, you want to see?” I breathed out a ‘hell yeah’ before following him through the now open doors where we emerged onto a concrete floor surrounded by a stone fence. The balcony was very small, and very empty. The only thing out there was a fold-up garden chair.

“Wow, this sure is the place of my dreams” I noted aloud sarcastically, and Marco gave me a mocking smirk before stepping onto the chair, the fence, and disappearing from view onto the roof. “What the fuck?! Marco I thought you meant there was a staircase you weren’t supposed to use to get up there or something, this shit’s probably illegal!”

“You’re coming up though, aren’t you?” I paused and looked down at my feet. I was already stood on the chair.

“That’s not the point,” I muttered as I made my way up. The roof was flat and made of the same concrete that created the balcony. My legs trembled a little as I stood up, the gentle summer breeze brushing past my shoulders, threatening to blow me over every now and then. I sat down next to Marco who was hugging his knees. The short sleeves of his shirt were filling with air and blowing back and forth as the ends of his shorts did the same around his legs. His ebony hair looked matted already and his parting had completely disappeared. I would say that he looked hot, if I swung that way.

As I turned my gaze away from his face and joined him to look at the city, I realised why he liked to come up here. I could see straight across the park that took up a good square mile or so next to the apartment block, the height of the building we were sat on made everything look so miniscule, like a tiny clay village. I watched people go about their daily lives below, some people walked with friends, some carried groceries and shopping bags, some walked dogs, and some did nothing in particular. I watched the toy cars race by each other and pull up against the sidewalk to let people out and I watched them line up in rows behind glowing traffic lights that changed to a rhythm.

And I realised, I was witnessing life. So many people doing so many things. What was I in comparison to that? What was my issue with Hannah, in comparison to that? Everything meant so little, but at the same time, everything meant so much. Every tiny detail effected humanity, every last damn thing. So although nothing really meant anything, anything also meant everything. 

We sat there for a few minutes, and neither of us said a word until Marco broke the silence.

“It’s pretty breathtaking, huh?” He turned his head to face me but I didn’t do the same. I just nodded.

_What was I in comparison to that?_

There was more silence before he spoke up again.

“There’s a bit of a problem now, though.” I turned to face him this time.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” He had been resting his head on his pulled up knees and he stared ahead for another moment before meeting my gaze.

“You’re going to have to move in now. I don’t show _this_ to just anyone, you know.” He opened up his arms when he emphasised the word ‘this’ gesturing towards the view we were facing. I huffed and nodded.

“I think I want to anyway. It’s a nice place you’ve got, nicer than mine.” He beamed at me, his eyes shimmering. He opened his mouth to speak but I interrupted him. “But!” I said it suddenly and I held up my index finger. “I want to see my room first.” He nodded understandingly and walked to the edge of the roof before jumping down.

I walked over to the gutter after Marco and when I looked down my stomach did a back flip. The toy cars and the model villages looked much more realistic from this angle. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

_Calm down, don’t be such a wuss. You got up here damn it, you can get back down._

I held on tight to the edge of the gutter and dropped one foot down to find the edge of the barrier below me. It took a moment, but when my first toe touched the stone I dropped my other foot to stand next to the first and I stretched my arms out, allowing me to rest all of my weight onto the stone fencing. I remained still for a few seconds before I stepped my right food forward onto the chair, followed by my left, where I let go with my hands and hopped down onto the floor. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t shaking. Marco looked at me, impressed.

“Not bad for a first try. Don’t worry, you get used to it pretty quickly.” I followed him back into the living room. I didn’t want to go back up onto the roof any time soon, but at the same time I wanted to go back up there right away and stay there. Forever.

Marco walked me through the small living room and past the front door, down a short corridor that was too short to really class as a corridor. At the end of it was a door, which he opened, and I saw that it was a small bathroom. It had a shower cubical and a toiler pushed up against the farthest wall and a small cupboard on the floor to my right with a sink in the top of it. He then turned right, past the bathroom, where there was a second door.

“Your room’s in there.” He pointed and folded his arms as I walked past him and into the room. There was a double bed in the far right corner that had a red and orange chequered duvet. In the middle-left of the room against a blank, black wall was a wooden desk and a matching chair with nothing on it, behind which, on the opposite wall, was a full-length mirror. Finally, to the left of the door was a chest of drawers with a decorative plant upon it. All in all, the room was fairly empty, but I had the feeling that it could feel very homely if I decorated it the right way.

“Sorry, it’s not the best room in the house; I’ve just been using it as a guest room until now so there wasn’t really a lot that I needed to put in there.” He scratched the back of his neck again with his left hand as his right one rested in his front pocket.

“I think...” I paused. It would help both of us money wise and liked this apartment, I really did, not to mention Marco seemed pretty cool, but did I want to live here? I had so many memories in my current home with my friends and my family and with _her._..

No. A fresh start. That was what I was all about now, right? I was moving on from her. I was piecing myself back together. I was part of a jigsaw that had found myself a new puzzle, and Hannah wasn’t one of the pieces this time.

“I think you’ve got yourself a new flatmate.”

* * *

We were almost finished with the paperwork when I realised that it was almost nine o’clock – we’d spent the entirety of that afternoon trying to get our heads around the complex wording and signing things and trying to decide which bits we actually needed to read. My hair was messed up from the amount of times I’d run my hands through it in frustration, but Marco still seemed contempt and you could practically see the gears churning together behind his forehead as he read through the sheets of paper, his eyebrows knotted together and his mouth forming a slight frown.

“I should probably head back, a man’s gotta eat.” I ran my hand through my hair a final time as I said it, and Marco moved his head up in one fast, swift motion to look at me.

“You can eat here, you know, if you want to. I mean, you can test out the kitchen or whatever.” He checked his watch and I laughed harshly.

“Yeah, no I don’t cook.”

“It’s a good job I do then, right? Seriously, I’ll give you the almost-a-new-flatmate treatment and cook something.” There was a pause of silence.

“Are you sure? I mean we still barely even know each other.”

“Well if you’re going to move in here then we should probably try to, you know?” Marco had a point, so I ended up staying there for dinner. I glanced around the room again and my eyes landed on the laptop hastily thrown onto the sofa.

“What’s your book about then?”

“Hm?”

“That book you’re writing. What’s it about?”

“Oh, right, hold on.” He put something in the oven and came to sit down next to me with his hands laced together in front of him on the table.

“It’s this fantasy-violence type thing. Novel. It’s a novel.” I snorted. “It’s about a city that’s enclosed within three giant walls that keep humanity safe from these man-eating giants called Titans, right? So when turn thirteen, some of them enrol in military training, and from there you can choose between going into the garrison, who protect the walls; the military police, who protect the king, and the survey corps, who are the people who go outside the walls and attack the titans physically...”

I nodded along slowly as he spoke, but I found that I stopped paying attention pretty quickly. His plot was interesting, but I was focused on the concentrated expression of his face and the deepness of his eyes. It was fascinating to watch him talk about something he felt so passionate about.

I watched the way he moved his arms up and down above the surface of the table, motioning and gesturing about the things he’d created in his world of Titans and the Military. I watched his eyes dance, going from his hands to my face and back again, and their dark burnt sienna colour almost blending with his pupil due to the late evening light. I looked at the way his mouth formed the words that he was saying, and I could see how much he loved writing just from the way he talked about it. It was really entrancing.

“...Jean? You there?” Shit.

“Hm?” Had he asked me something? Holy shit, what was I meant to say if he asked me what I was thinking about? ‘Oh, not a lot, I was just really mesmerised by watching you talk.’ Sweet move, Jean. You’re great at this whole first impressions thing.

He laughed.

“I asked what kind of thing you usually write songs about.” Jesus, thank God he hadn’t asked about the book, what was I mean to answer with to something like that? No, he asked about my songs, I could answer that one.

“It depends really, you know? Sometimes I’ll write something based on my emotions or something that’s happened to me like, I dunno, say a breakup or something. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing, I think it’s great. I’ve never met a proper songwriter before.” It had become a habit for me to tell people not to laugh, because they always did. I was a soppy guy who wrote soppy songs on his soppy little guitar. Even so, Marco was different, he’d told me it was great.

“Well I’ve never met a novelist before, either.” That was when I noticed the flowers again, I’d almost completely forgotten they were there.

White tulips. Her favourite.

_Keep it together; you’ve been doing really well today. You’ve barely even thought of her compared to the last few days._

Talking to myself like a baby wasn’t helping, so I told myself to ‘man up’ as I took in a deep breath and turned my view away from the vase before me.

“Shit!” Marco jumped up and almost knocked his chair oven with the impact. I twisted my head around to look at him. He had the oven door open and was flapping at the food with a pair of oven gloves.

“Shit shit shit. Ahh crap, I wasn’t paying attention, I’ve over-done it.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head slowly.

“Tsh, ‘I can cook’ my ass.” Marco scowled at me before tipping the tray of food into the bin. He stopped and put one hand on his hip, staring into the can at the ruined dinner.

“You like pizza?”

“Who doesn’t like pizza?”

“We might have to get pizza.”

“I have absolutely no problem with getting pizza.”

So we got pizza. It was twenty minutes to ten by the time we actually had something edible in front of us, and I was swearing that even if it wasn’t edible I would probably still eat it. I don’t function when I’m hungry.

We played final fantasy whilst sitting on the sofa eating the cheesy goodness for what didn’t feel like long at all, but was actually forty minutes. It was weird. I’d only really met Marco properly that day but already I felt like we were good friends, like I could talk to him about some really personal or deep stuff if I had wanted to. I didn’t though, because I knew that I was still technically in the ‘first impression’ zone of getting to know him.

I helped him clear away the empty boxes afterwards and to pack up the Xbox before we sat back down at the kitchen table to finish the last bit of paperwork. I would most likely be moved in by the end of next week, Marco knew what he was doing and I didn’t have to move a lot of furniture over, only my possessions and a few other pieces like spare sheets and cushions for my bed.

_White tulips._

I’d have to ask to get rid of those when I was officially moved in, they were too memory triggering for me.

_I was part of a jigsaw that had found myself a new puzzle, and Hannah wasn’t one of the pieces this time._

I couldn’t stop staring at the flowers. Every time I sat at the table I found myself looking fixedly at them again, and I was thinking about her silky hair floating above her waist, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners when she smiled her genuine smile. The one where her lips parted to show her slightly crooked teeth, the one where her cheeks created small dimples at the corners of her mouth, the one where –

“You like tulips, huh?” Once again, Marco interrupted my thoughts. It was good though, it helped. It stopped from missing her.

“Not really.” I paused and chewed my bottom lip, trying to decide how much I should tell him. I needed him to trust me if I was going to be stuck with him, right?

“My ex-girlfriend did. They were her favourite flower; but we broke up recently so you know, they just make me recall some memories.” I stopped there. That was all he needed to know for now.

“Oh. Sorry. I only have them because my sister gave them to me. She said she didn’t want them which was a little weird, they’re her favourite, too.”

With those few sentences, several pieces of information clicked into place in my head.

Marco had dark brown hair and pale skin.

Marco had freckles all the way across his face.

Marco fascinated me.

The Bodt sisters had a brother that I’d never met.

And his sister wanted to get rid of her favourite flower. White tulips.

“Marco...” I started slowly, my voice quiet and shaky. I didn’t want to be right. Dear God, please let me not be right. This was everything I didn’t need. “Marco, what’s your last name?”

He said nothing for a moment, trying to understand why I was asking him a question like that. His nose crinkled up slightly due to his eyebrows being pulled in, and he looked down at the floor, confused.

“It’s Bodt, why?”

My heart physically stopped beating in my chest, I swear to God it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEK. So there it is. Jean knows.  
> This is my favourite chapter so far omg it was so fun to write.  
> As always thank you all so much for giving this fic support, I can't believe it's already got over 500 notes?!  
> I'll probably be uploading chapters more-or-less weekly from now on due to the fact that I'll definitely be able to keep up with writing chapters in time.  
> Again, thank you so much for reading The Fifth Bodt I can't express how much I love you all!<3


	5. The Great Bowling Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a boys-vs-girls battle and kisses are discussed.

“Can you uh, can you give me a minute?” I asked Marco, who still looked confused as to why I’d asked him his surname.

“Uhm. Yeah, sure.”

I left the apartment to stand in the corridor and I leaned against the wall with my head in my hands.

 _You had one job, one fucking job, to get away from the Bodts so that you can move on._ I laughed to myself. I guess they followed me everywhere. To Jean Kirschtein, the Bodt family was inescapable.

Then again, it may not really be that much of a bad thing, moving in with Marco. I mean, I’d never even met him before this so how close could he really be to his sisters? If they had never introduced their boyfriend to their brother, then would Marco have a reason to introduce his flatmate to them? Although, if one of them ever came over to visit...

Hah, if they came over to visit then they’d have to deal with it. I didn’t mind Sarah at all, we were just kids when we dated and she’d forgiven me a long time ago. I had the feeling that Rachel had pretty much forgiven me too; even though we hadn’t really spoken since we broke up all those years ago, so it may be a little awkward seeing her again. Louise? I’d actually had a few conversations with her since the cat incident; I’d definitely class her as an acquaintance, at least. However, Hannah was the problem. It wasn’t even a week ago that I’d caught her lounging around with a boxer-wearing Eren Jaeger. There was no chance either of us would be over that yet by the time I’d probably have to see her.

So, what’s a Kirschtein to do? It didn’t stop the fact that living with Marco would be much cheaper, or that he was a nice guy, or that the view from the rooftop was one of the best things I’d ever seen. I only really had one option.

I would suck it up and move in with Marco anyway. I guess I’d deal with re-uniting with the sisters when the time came.

I shook my hands and wiped them on the front of my jeans before walking back into Marco’s apartment, where he was sat on the couch texting someone.

“Hey, sorry about that,” I said, closing the door behind me and joining him on the sofa.

“Not a problem, is everything alright?” I laughed breathily. I should have known he was going to ask.

“Yeah, I uh. I just used to date your sister.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“Uh...” Which one indeed, Marco. Which one indeed. “Her name was Sarah, we dated when I was fourteen I think, so don’t worry, not like it was a recent one or anything.” I didn’t tell him I’d dated all four. I wasn’t going to give him the whole truth. Not yet, anyway.

“Oh right,” He laughed briefly. “Well thank God for that then, I guess.” There was silence. “Wait...” He leaned in towards me slowly and squinted slightly, and then he backed away just as slowly as his eyes widened again, and he looked just like Sarah, with his eyes so large that it was a little unnerving.

“Are you...” Shit. Had he figured me out that quickly? No, there was no way he could have; I’d never met him before this week in my life.

“Oh my God, you are!” He cried gleefully as he clapped his hands together, like a small child who’d just met Santa Claus.

I leaned away from Marco slightly. What was he talking about? And why in hell was he so happy about it? That was when he pointed at me, his long finger inches from my nose.

“Burrito boy! Jeez, it’s you, isn’t it?!” I let out a long huff of air. So that was the nickname they’d given me for it. At least he didn’t know about Hannah.

“The one and only.” I swept my hands down my front gesturing to myself as I said it as though I was in fact the Santa Claus that this happy child was so delighted to meet.

“Oh, my God, this is amazing. I remember Sarah coming home that night crying her little eyes out bless her, -” I couldn’t help but laugh half way through what Marco was saying. _Little_ eyes. “- She started talking about how some guy had chucked a burrito down her top. I got it out of her later that you were going out. Oh, man, she was thirteen at the time I think, which makes sense if you said you were fourteen. So I would’ve been fifteen, most likely, or maybe just turned sixteen...”

It was happening again. I was zoning out and watching him speak, even though he wasn’t talking about anything he was passionate about this time. I guess I just found it nice to see someone this excited. And he looked like Hannah, God did he look like Hannah when he laughed.

“... I can’t believe this, what an insane coincidence, right?”

“Yep. It’s insane alright.” _And you don’t even know the half of it,_ I thought.

I looked at the clock hanging above the TV to see that it was already eleven o’clock.

“Man, I’ve really gotta get going. I’ve got work tomorrow, unfortunately.” I sat up from where I was slouching against the arm of the sofa, stretched my arms out in front of me, and stood up.

“Oh. Yeah of course, sorry for keeping you here so late.” I shook my head.

“Na, don’t worry about it. Better to get all this paperwork and other crap out of the way soon as we can, right?” He nodded and raised his eyebrows whilst his mouth moved to one side.

I picked my phone up from where I’d left it on the kitchen table and started to walk towards the door.

“Oh, wait! Jean!” I turned around.

“We should swap numbers. You know, it would probably help a bit if we could actually contact each other.” So we swapped numbers, said goodbye, and I left to go home.

* * *

 

It was Saturday morning. I had woken up late again and therefore arrived at work late. Again. I really needed to get around to making that alarm louder. I was feeling... okay. Yeah, I felt okay. I wasn’t as bummed out as I had been earlier in the week, and even though I wasn’t in as much of a good mood as I was yesterday morning, I still felt pretty good. I was okay.

“How’re things going, Jean?” Connie was the first one to ask me. 8:30am.

“Okay. I’m moving out, actually. I’ve found a place that’s a hell of a lot cheaper than where I am at the moment, and the guy I’m sharing it with is pretty cool. I get to give myself fresh start, you know?” I decided not to tell him that the guy I was moving in with was Hannah’s brother. I mean, the guy himself didn’t even know.

“Hey, good for you!” He said, clapping me on the back. “Oh by the way, me and the guys are going bowling tomorrow, you in? You can take your new flatmate too if you want, ‘bonding’ time or whatever.” I thought about it. It could be fun; we hadn’t done anything in a while.

“Yeah I’m in, who counts as ‘the guys’?”

“Um, that would be me, you, Reiner, Berthold, and your new buddy.” I nodded. “What did you say his name was again?”

“I didn’t, but his name’s Marco.”

“Marco. Got it. I’ll let Reiner and Bert know.” With that, he whipped out his phone from his front pocket and began to text.

Saturdays were always fairly uneventful at the coffee shop. The only person I really knew was Connie because neither Sasha nor Ymir were in, although for about an hour there was an old woman at a table near the counter who kept calling Connie over in order to try to flirt with him, which I found absolutely hysterical, though him not as much.

The next day, I slept in until ten, which was absolute bliss. I hadn’t been able to do that in weeks. I was going to pick up Marco at five and then we would go to the bowling alley to meet the others. So, at five o’clock, that was what I did.

I knocked three times on Marco’s door.

“I’m here to take you bowling so that I can kick your ass.” He answered with a mischievous smirk plastered on his face.

“Hah, I’d like to see you try.”

We arrived at the bowling alley at exactly twenty past five where Reiner, Berthold and Connie were waiting for us, sat on the small benches trying on various sizes of shoe.

“Hey guys, this is Marco. He’s the guy who’s letting me rent out his spare room. Marco this is Reiner, Berthold and Connie.” Marco stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets as I gestured towards each person as I said their name, and they all gave waves or salutes with a “Hi” “Hey” or “Nice to meet you.”

When the five of us eventually found the right shoe sizes, we were escorted over to lane seven. Reiner grabbed my arm and pulled me over towards him.

“Keep that Marco guy away from me alright? He’s hella cute.” I couldn’t help it.

“Stay away from my man, Reiner.” Reiner stared at me, his eyes wide but the rest of his face completely slack. He was so gullible when it came to gossip, he wanted to believe everything and anything about who was dating who and what happened to who and when. I burst out laughing.

“Jeez man, I’m just kidding! I’m not gay.” His grip on my arm loosened and his eyes went back to their original size.

“Don’t mess with me like that!” He paused, glancing over at Marco. “Come to think of it though, you guys kinda suit.” I glared at him, giving him my shut-the-hell-up-if-you-want-to-live look, and he grinned toothily at me before skipping over to Berthold whilst saying “I ship it” in a sing-song voice. I didn’t even know what he fucking meant by that.

We turned a corner to get to our lane and... Oh.

All five of us stopped dead in our tracks. In lane six, the one next to our own, was a group of five girls. Annie, Sasha, Ymir, and two others that I didn’t recognise. One was small with just-blow-shoulder-length blonde hair, and she was pretty. She was holding onto Ymir’s arm as the two sat on one of the sofas. She must’ve been the girlfriend we’d all heard so much about. The other was an Asian girl that had chin-length jet black hair, and she wore a red scarf despite the fact that it was the middle of summer. She had her head down, texting. I had no clue who she was.

“Well shit, now what?” Connie was the first to say something about it, and he caused Sasha to turn her head as soon as she had finished her turn.

“CONNIE?!” I should have been expecting it; the two were best friends – inseparable. Nevertheless, Sasha never ceased to astonish me of just how loudly she could yell. The other girls, excluding the one in the scarf, turned their attention to us aswell thanks to her volume, and Connie scratched the back of his neck, wincing slightly. Apparently even he wasn’t used to it.

“What do you mean, ‘now what’?” Annie started, her face just as serious as it always was. “We battle, boys against girls. We take turns to go up against each other and keep a tally of who gets the most points.”

“Okay, but what do the winners get?” Reiner asked.

“OH PICK ME!” Sasha’s hand rocketed skyward, twitching it above her head. “Whoever loses has to buy the opposing team dinner.”

“What? Oh come on, that’s not fair. If we lose, you’ll buy the entire freaking restaurant!” Connie moaned.

“Well then we’ll just have to make sure we win, won’t we?” That was the first thing Marco had said since the introductions were made.

“Who’s the new cutie?” The blonde girl asked, who then got smacked on the arm by a smiling Ymir.

“He’s Marco Bodt.” The girl with the scarf finally looked up from her phone.

“Mikasa? I thought it was you. Jeez, I haven’t seen you in years.” These guys knew each other? Everyone was silent has they held their little reunion. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good actually, thanks for asking. Yourself?” Who the hell was this chick?

“I’m doing really well, yeah. Thanks.”

“Still in touch with the boys?” Marco nodded. The boys? Who were the boys?

“Yep. The one idiot’s actually dating my sister.” Mikasa raised here eyebrows.

“Wait – _Armin?”_

“What? No,” Marco laughed. “The other idiot.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah that makes more sense.” I couldn’t help but wonder which sister they were talking about. Or who ‘the other idiot’ was.

“Okay this reunion thing is great and all but I came here to whoop some ass at bowling, so that’s what I’m gonna do.” Reiner stepped forward to the small computer and began to type in our names as Connie and Sasha did some ‘competitive stretching’, which was basically just lunging angrily at each other. The others started to pipe up a conversation, leaving me and Marco as the outsiders. I decided then was as good a chance as any to ask him.

“Who’s the chick, then? Ex-girlfriend?” Marco realised I was talking to him and span his head around quickly.

“What? Oh, no. I had a crush on her at one point though when I was around thirteen. We were childhood friends, me and her and these two other guys. We just kind of drifted apart though; I don’t really know what happened.”

“Ah, I see.” I relaxed a little – I hadn’t realised that I was tense. And I didn’t know _why_ I was tense, either. The music playing through the speakers changed over to Charlie Brown by Coldplay, which triggered some celebratory cheering from a variation of people.

“This is my jam!” Sasha cried, clapping her hands together and pumping her hand in the air.

“Okay Bert, Annie, you guys are up first!” Reiner called, and the two stepped forward to take their places in front of the aisles.

“I’m about to kick your ass, Berthold.”

“Try me.”

They threw their bowling balls at the same time and they glided towards the skittles at the ends of the aisles. Annie scored a perfect strike whereas Berthold hit a spare.

“Are you looking forward to paying later?” Annie asked slyly as Bert sneered at her before swapping places with Connie. He was up next, against Sasha, of course.

Sasha wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on around her, she was dancing and swaying to the music and singing along. I hadn’t realised how much she liked Coldplay. That was when I realised how tense Marco was next to me.

“Hey,” I said, nudging his arm with my elbow. “Loosen up a bit, none of these guys are gonna eat you or anything... Though Sasha might give it a try.” He smiled.

“Yeah I... I know. I’ve just never been good with new people.”

“It’s all good, just be yourself, I think they like you already anyway.” We exchanged smiles and he thanked me, and just then, Sasha let out a very long, very loud,

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

She sank down onto her knees and rested her hands on the top of her head before thumping her balled up fists on the floor.

“I can’t believe I lost to _you!_ ” She pointed at Connie, who was doing the gangnam-style dance around our area supported by whoops from Reiner and Bert, and shortly Marco and I joined in.

“Move out, my go.” I said as I stood up.

“Try talking to Reiner or something, okay? He’s very welcoming.” I patted Marco on the arm before switching out with Connie. I was up against Ymir. Crap. I hadn’t been bowling in what was probably years so I was out of practice, and let’s face it; Ymir was insanely good when it came to anything competitive.

“I would say you’re going down, but you’re probably not.” I said to her as I picked up a bowling ball. She laughed.

“Jeez Jean, at least _pretend_ to be good!” I turned to face Connie.

“But if I pretend I’m good, I’ll just look more stupid when I lose.”

“If.” Berthold piped up. He was always so quiet. He was one of those people who you can easily get along with, but prefers to kind of sit and acknowledge what’s going on rather than get involved. “ _If_ you lose.”

I smiled before bringing the bowling ball up to my chest, lining it up with the lane in front of me. I brought it down, behind me, and thrust it forward. It rolled down the ally in an almost-perfect straight line, and it crashed against the skittle in the very centre, causing those around it to scatter and fall down.

“Split!” The automated machine called out.

“What? No!” I made an audible complaint before looking over to Ymir’s side, when the machine called the same thing again. We stared at each other. We had both missed the two outermost pins. There were subtle “Ooh”s that came from our friends as we each picked up a second bowling ball and lined it up to where we wanted to throw it.

“Come on babe!” The pretty blonde girl called, pumping a fist above her head.

“Yeah! Come on, Ymir!” Sasha joined in. And then my team began to pipe up too.

“Yeah, babe, you can do it!” Connie, the sarcastic asshole, cried at me. I turned around and blew a kiss at him before attempting to line up the bowling ball again.

I took a deep breath in. Three, two, one. I rolled the ball down the aisle and Ymir let go of hers at the same time. I watched mine roll towards the skittle on the left as Ymir’s tumbled towards the one on the right, and our teams cheered us on. I noticed, however, that Marco was still remaining very quiet. My bowling ball crashed into the left skittle and I heard cheering, so I turned around with my arms in the air. There was no way Ymir could beat that.

I was wrong. She had angled it perfectly so that the ball hit the rightmost skittle at the exact angle to make it fly into the left one, causing them to both fall over. My jaw dropped.

“How is that even possible?” Marco asked, his left hand gesturing towards Ymir’s lane. She bowed before joining the others on the sofa.

“Don’t even try to understand man, Ymir breaks physics.” I answered. I patted his back as he stood up to take my place where he was up against the small blonde girl.

“Come on, Christa!” Mikasa yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify the sound.

“You can do it, Marco!” Reiner called, mimicking Mikasa’s hand actions.

“You’ve got this babe!” Ymir was using a 20p piece to buy a handful of sweets from the machine behind her as she said it, so I copied her. We liked winding them up.

“I believe in you, baby!” I winked at Marco whose face had gone a deep crimson colour, and I laughed as I stuffed the handful of sweets into my mouth, sitting down next to Reiner and Berthold.

“You sure you’re not gay?” Reiner asked after leaning in to whisper to me.

“Jesus Reiner, you never heard of a joke?” He smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“I dunno, _baby.”_ He teased as he reached his arm back and across Bert’s shoulders. I rolled my eyes.

The afternoon flew by. It was full of making fun of each other and chanting and jeering and getting to know the others. It turned out that Ymir’s girlfriend, Christa, was the very same Christa that was revealed to have a crush on me on the dreaded night of the burrito. Annie joked about how I messed up so bad that I was able to turn Christa gay, and she wasn’t even the girl I threw food at. Marco got to know my friends pretty well and we decided that he had to be careful as Reiner actually did think he was cute. I got to know Mikasa pretty well too, and she was nice. She was sort of quiet but she could hold a good conversation – I could see why she was friends with Annie. Reiner and Berthold repeatedly asked me if I was sure I didn’t have a thing for Marco, and I repeatedly told them that we were just roommates, that I’d only recently broken up with my girlfriend and that I was definitely heterosexual.

* * *

 

Our team lost in the end, but it was a pretty close game. So at seven o’clock we all walked over to a fast food restaurant around the corner from the bowling alley. We decided on ordering the food to go so that we could sit on the bank outside and eat it there.

I sat to the left of Marco on the bank, who was then sat to the left of Mikasa. The two of them were reminiscing about their childhood whilst I sat there, more awkward than ever, eating my burger with my knees tucked up to my chest. I wanted to talk to him but he was so engrossed in his conversation with Mikasa that I felt rude to interrupt, and there was also the fact that I didn’t really have anything to talk to him about. I mean, it wasn’t like I grew up with him like she had.

I felt weird. I wanted him to get along with my friends and I obviously didn’t want to intrude on him getting to know an old childhood friend again, but then, I didn’t want him to talk to them at all. I felt... protective? No, the word didn’t fit. I wasn’t protective over him – I couldn’t have been. I’d met Marco less than a week ago; we weren’t nearly close enough for me to feel _protective_ over him. I was... _jealous._

Ah, bingo.

‘Jealous’ fit the bill perfectly. I was jealous that Marco Bodt was making friends with my friends, okay? Don’t shun me for it, everyone does it. I had a new friend and I was just a little bit jealous that he was being shared around like this. Not to mention that _I_ was supposed to be his new friend here, not Reiner and Berthold who had joined his conversation. All of a sudden:

“...What about you, Jean?” All eyes were on me. I hadn’t even been listening to their conversation – I didn’t even know that I was _in_ their conversation. I swallowed the mouthful of food that I was currently chewing.

“Sorry, what?” Reiner rolled his eyes at me.

“Your first kiss.”

“Jean’s first kiss? Hold on, I want in on this.” Sasha said, who shuffled around so that all ten of us were now involved in one large conversation.

“Why do I have to go first?”

“You’re not, Bert just said his, if you’d been listening.” I looked over to Berthold who had gone a very bright shade of red that probably wasn’t healthy. He looked down at his lap away from me and began to wipe his sweaty hands on his shorts.

“I’m going to say that I’m fairly glad I missed that one.”

“It was pretty great, actually,” Annie started, “He said it was with Reiner when they first started dating, but Reiner had already had his first kiss, and they were in a strip club on his birth-”

“You don’t have to repeat it!” Bert interrupted. He was right, she really didn’t. Connie laughed.

“Come on Jean, what was your first kiss like?” They all leaned in closer towards me or shuffled onto their knees like we were all ten years old again and it was fucking story time.

“Well, uh...” I rubbed the back of my sweaty neck with my left hand. Great, my neck was already sweaty. “It was with Marco’s sister, so that’s a little awkward.”

“Oh damn.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“Oh yeah, you dated Sarah, right?” Marco said, looking me right in the eyes.

“Well...” I hadn’t thought this through at all. I’d never gotten far with Sarah; Rachel was my first proper kiss. I didn’t want to start revealing things like this already, especially not with eight other people here, but I didn’t really have a choice now.

“Actually... Rachel was my first kiss.” His face dropped.

“You... you dated t-two? Of my sisters?” I felt bad already. Oh God, I should’ve lied, I should’ve just told him that Sarah was my first kiss. Would it really have been the end of the world?

“Uh... yeah.” I wiped my hands on my trousers. They were also sweaty now, fantastic.

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” There was an awkward silence as Marco and I held a gaze with each other. I noticed out of my peripheral vision that nobody else was making eye contact with anyone, and I was glad when Ymir finally spoke.

“So... are you gonna keep going or what?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Right.” I paused to try to remember; when was my first kiss?

“We were sixteen, me and Rachel. I think it was our... third date? Maybe our fourth, I’m not sure. It wasn’t anything fancy or unique, like, we weren’t at a strip club for one thing,” I gave Bert a look, who was still blushing furiously, whilst Reiner was sat next to him holding his hand and trying not to giggle like a twelve year old girl.

“We’d just been out with a few of her friends and I was walking her home, but we decided to go the long way back so that we could spend longer together. Now that I think about it, I remember it pretty well. We were walking down this path that was like, lined with trees on either side and we were holding hands, and it was just starting to get dark. You know the time of day when it’s just past sunset, but not quite late enough to count as night time yet? It was then. So we were just walking, and I turned to look at her and I told her how beautiful she looked that night and how I really loved the colour of her eyes in the moonlight, and I leaned in, and... And I kissed her.”

There was a long silence, and everyone was staring at me. The girls looked dreamy and the boys looked like they’d been upstaged or something.

“Well someone say something ‘cause this is starting to get awkward as fuck for me.” There was another, shorter pause.

“I’m just jealous that yours was all romantic and mine was because I was giving a lap dance,” was all that Reiner said, and Berthold began to blush even more, if that was even possible.

“That’s really really cute” Sasha practically whispered, who was lying on her front now with her head resting on her hands.

“Uh, so anyway. Marco, you go?”

“What? N-no, I really don’t think I sh-”

“Why not?” Reiner asked, “I mean come on, it looks like we’re all going to tell our stories tonight eventually, right?” There was a slightly muffled chorus of ‘yeah’s and ‘he’s right’s before Marco took in a deep breath.

“Just... No one judge me for this, okay?”

“Nobody’s gonna judge you Marco, we’re all friends here,” I told him. He breathed in deeply again.

“Well... I don’t really think I’ve had my first kiss. Not one that meant anything, anyway. There just... I’ve never found a person that I thought was worth having it with yet, so... I haven’t. Go ahead, laugh, I’m a twenty-one year old man who’s telling you he doesn’t class any of his kisses as his first one.”

“I think that’s really sweet,” Christa responded first after an awkward pause, and Marco gave her a disbelieving stare. “Honestly, I think it’s sweet that you’re willing to wait for someone you know is definitely worth it.” He smiled at her.

“Thanks, Christa.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I think it’s pretty cute too.” _Annie?_ I thought that of all the people here, if anyone was going to make fun of him it would be Annie.

“I mean, my first kiss was in a bar with some drunk dude I didn’t know. I can hardly call that classy.” Connie snorted before giving his opinion.

“I’ve gotta say, I agree. I’ve had plenty of first kisses or whatever but I sort of wish I hadn’t, none of them meant anything.”

“Same here,” Sasha said, and they stared at each other. The atmosphere changed, and I think everybody had started to figure out what was about to happen.

Connie and Sasha crashed together, finally having “their first kiss that meant something.” Ymir was the first to cheer, and slowly, we all joined in as they smiled through their kiss.

“About bloody time!” I called over the noise, and Connie flashed his middle finger at me. It had always been totally obvious that they were into each other; Connie hadn’t stopped talking about her to me since I met him three years ago.

The rest of the evening was pretty much like that. Eventually everybody told their stories of their first kisses, but we decided that Connie and Sasha had the best story because technically it had happened that night. Well, besides Berthold’s story, anyway. I still definitely did not want to know what had happened then.

I still couldn’t believe that Marco hadn’t had his first kiss though, I mean, he was a good looking guy; I would have thought that the ladies would be all over him. I stopped fretting and went to sleep feeling happy.

I hadn’t thought about her since that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eheheh I like this chapter because funsies and lightheartedness and stuff. (It's rather long too oops). 'Twas very fun to write, and I'm considering writing a bonus scene of Berthold's first kiss...? ;)  
> I also keep coming up with ideas for scenes in future chapters and it pains me because I can't write them yet ugh.  
> Please continue to leave your support and comments and advice for me and my writing, because I can't express how much I appreciate that!  
> Also this fic recently achieved 700 hits like what's up with that?! It's crazy that's what. I love each and every one of you and as always thank you so much for being a part of this! I hope that you enjoy reading The Fifth Bodt as much as I enjoy writing it. :)


	6. Brunette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean gets officially moved in.

It was almost an entire week later, and Marco and I were finally transporting my furniture over to his apartment. Our apartment. It wasn’t a very long drive between the two buildings, it was sort of annoying that I had to take the car if I’m honest; it was a bit of a nuisance. If I had super strength or something, I would very willingly carry the furniture over by myself, it was that close. Not to mention that that day was scorching hot, so hot that I could feel the denim of my jeans sticking tightly to my thighs. I’d packed the last of my clean shorts because I heard there were hotter days to come, and believe you me, I was regretting that decision.

Of course, there was also the fact that the air-con in my car was fairly shitty. It more or less took the hot air and just blew it straight at you, still just as hot. Rolling the windows down didn’t help either because again, it just meant you had the hot air smothering your face and making you squint because of it slapping your face at such a great speed.

I texted Marco to tell him that I was there with the last few boxes, and shortly after I saw him jogging towards me in his khaki shorts and his white vest top. How he was jogging in this weather, I will never know.

I grabbed one of the lighter boxes, pretending that it was heavier so that I didn’t look so weak, and started making my way up the stairs of the apartment building, peering around the side of it just enough to see where I was putting my next foot. The box may not have been heavy, (I’m fairly sure that it contained my bedding), but it was sure as hell big. It occurred to me half way up that it probably would have been easier for me to take the elevator with Marco and the larger boxes, but it was too late for that now.

By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I was coughing and out of breath. I placed the palm of my hand against the wall as I leaned on it, desperately gulping down air. There were more stairs than I remembered there being. Either that or I really did need that gym membership that Sasha kept pressing on about.

I used my free hand (the one not holding the box) to swipe my hair away from where it was glued with sweat to my forehead, and I looked up to see Marco standing in the door to his apartment accompanied by a large smirk plastered over where his usually-so-sweet smile should be.

“Fuck off,” I wheezed through heavy breaths, clutching my stomach with one hand and practically throwing the box at him with the other. “There were more stairs than I thought, okay?” He didn’t say a word, just turned smoothly and into the depths of the apartment, and I begrudgingly followed him slowly inside.

He was already stood in the kitchen with the fridge open, pouring himself a glass of coke, when I walked inside.

“You want one?” He asked, gesturing to the bottle in his hand. I nodded and started ambling towards the bathroom.

“Don’t mind if I take a shower, do you? Fucking boiling out there.”

“Go for it,” he laughed as he pulled another glass out from the cupboard behind him. “Ice?” I nodded again as I took my towel from one of the many packed boxes in the living room.

It was blissful. A cold jet of heavenly nourishment falling down from the heavens above - also known as a shower head. I hadn’t felt something this nice in weeks, there was something about a cold shower in the middle of summer. Especially when you’ve just been sweating like a pig.

As I got out of the heaven-cube I threw my sweat-stained clothes into the hamper and wrapped the towel around my waist before trudging back through into the living room. I was a dumbass and forgot to take clothes in with me. It wouldn’t be weird for Marco though, right? We were both guys, and seeing other guys shirtless was such a normality. Was this any different?

I was running my hands through my wet hair and looking down at the floor as I walked through the not-a-corridor.

“Hey man, sorry, may or may not have forgotten to take clean clothes in there with me.” I started rummaging through one of the boxes that I knew was filled with my clean shorts. “You don’t mind if I stay shirtless do you? Sorry, I’m really not one for heat, definitely a winter person.” I was fairly confident with my body, if I’m totally honest. I had some abs still from when I used to play ice-hockey, I didn’t quit that long ago, and I still went jogging occasionally with Fleetwood.

“Uh, yeah, sure. That’s fine, I guess.”

“Cool, thanks man.” I looked up finally as I pulled a fresh pair of red shorts out from the box I was towering over, and walked through to my new bedroom to change. I’d noticed that Marco was faintly pink in the face. Probably just sunburn, I thought.

When I emerged, Marco was sat on the couch typing away again on his laptop. Typical Marco. If I could describe his physical appearance with one word, I would use ‘brunette’. Pretty boring word, I know, but it’s true.

Brunette hair, parted neatly down the centre of his scalp, falling almost symmetrically down either side of his forehead. Brunette eyes, dark, bold. They had that hypnotising effect that when you’ve noticed them, you can’t really stop staring, you have to be kicked out of it by something or someone else. Brunette freckles. One long, darker strip across the middle of his face, from his right cheek over to his left, crossing the barrier that was his nose in between as well. Brunette. Brunette, brunette, brunette.

Marco, the brunette man.

It was then that I realised he was staring at me with one eyebrow raised.

“Hello? Earth to Jean?” I stopped staring at his freckles and looked up to meet his eyes instead.

“Hm?” I was really good at this whole zoning out thing.

“I asked if that was a tattoo,” he said, pointing to the initials in black ink on my bicep. H B, surrounded by a heart shape.

“Oh, yeah, initials of my ex-girlfriend. It’s a little awkward.”

Remembering that the tattoo was there would usually have upset me, but the look on Marco’s face distracted me. It was priceless. His eyebrows were so close to his hairline that I thought they were about to run along and join it. His eyes and mouth were the same shape, large and round, and approximately the same size, too. His hands had frozen above his keyboard as he stared at me in complete and utter shock.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

“Oh, man! You should see your face right now!” I fell onto the floor and creased under the pressure of the laughter bubbling inside me. My back folded in on itself, crushing me into a ball curled up like a shrimp or some shit on the burgundy carpet.

“I- but- you—” He spluttered, still freaking out a little on the settee. He closed the lid of his laptop and placed it on the coffee table beside him. “Does that not freak you out?! That’s gonna be there forever!” I wiped my eyes with the heels of my hands, letting out a high-pitched sigh of final laughter.

“Don’t worry about it, man, it’s temporary. I drew it on with a sharpie, then covered it with baby powder and hairspray. Works a treat.” He stared at me still, disbelieving. “I would never be stupid enough to get a permanent tattoo of her initials dude. There was always that possibility of us splitting up, which we did.” He continued to stare at me. “Look, I can show you, if you want?”

He nodded slowly, finally comprehending the fact that the tattoo wasn’t actually real. We dug around a few different boxes for a good ten minutes before I found what I was looking for. Marco suggested a few times that we tried actually unpacking the boxes, but I insisted that it was fine and that we deserved a break and that we would do it later.

I pulled out the small bag with my temporary-tattoo ingredients in it. A few different coloured sharpies, a small bottle of baby powder, a cheap can of hairspray and a white hand towel. Well, I say white. White-but-stained-with-sharpie was more accurate.

I shuffled over to Marco where he was now sat on the floor behind the sofa having helped me find the items, and I laid them out in front of me. He quirked an eyebrow in my direction as his eyes darted between my face and the four things in the space between us.

“You’re not giving me a tattoo.”

“What? Why not? It’s only temporary.” He stared at me a moment longer before he started to stand up.

“No,” he repeated, strolling over to the kitchen to fetch our drinks (which I had completely forgotten about) and returning quickly. “No, Jean, you’re not giving me a tattoo.” I stared at him with the best puppy-dog eyes that I could manage, and he snorted at my appalling attempt at being cute. Then I got an idea – puppy-dog.

“Dude, I’m practically giving you a fucking _puppy_ here by me moving in.” He started chewing the inside of his cheek, contemplating. Yes, yes this was good. I decided to call in the mutt himself. “Fleet!” I turned around to face the rest of the apartment and began to whistle as I clapped my palms against my thighs. “Come on, boy! Fleetwood!”

The fat bulldog came plodding through the house towards us with his head drooping down. He had been hibernating in my room already and I made a mental note to expect the dog drool on my sheets when I went to bed that night.

I picked him up and dropped him onto my lap, holding him tightly and petting him as he struggled to get away. _Come on boy, stay here,_ I willed, _I want to give Marco a tattoo._ I already knew exactly what I was going to write. I could see Marco staring at Fleetwood, considering his options and chewing the inside of his cheek much more furiously.

“I guess...” He started, and I felt a fluttering feeling in my chest. “I guess that’s a fair point. You promise it comes off?” I grinned stupidly.

“Dude, it’s a sharpie. I’m not actually using a bloody needle.” He nodded slowly.

“Where are you doing it?” He asked. I paused for a moment, mulling over the different places I could write my name on Marco’s body. I was considering the thigh, but then sitting in the right position could get awkward. What about his chest? No, I could just tell that it would feel weird with him watching me draw on his what-I-was-fairly-sure-was abs.

“Your back.” He let out a long, sad sigh before he brought his shirt up and over his head. I was right. There were a lot of abs. “Jesus man, what sort of crazy-ass exercise do you do? I thought you were like, a massive dork!”

“Uhm, thanks, I guess?” He laughed lightly and I felt my face growing a bit hot. Maybe that was a rude thing to say. “I’m just a guy who likes writing books and going to the gym, that’s all.” Maybe “likes” was an understatement of his. His chest was chiselled perfectly into the typical perfect-muscle tone. He at least had an eight-pack. I kind of wanted to touch them, if I’m honest with you; they looked like they would feel nice. He made my muscles look pathetic. When did I start to like abs, anyway?

He turned around so that he was facing the window and I now had his back, which was just as toned as his chest, in front of my face. At least the neighbours would have a nice view, I guess.

I popped the lid off the sharpie and when he jumped I snorted embarrassingly.

“Hold still, okay?” I pressed the sharpie pen to his left shoulder blade and began to write across the top of his back in a slow movement so that it looked neat – so slowly that I could start to tell how awkward Marco was feeling, so I sped up a bit for him. I dragged the pen up, down, up, around, to form the letters of my surname. He would probably hate me for this. I didn’t really care.

I made one final line to complete the ‘N’ just below his right shoulder and grinned in approval at my masterpiece. It wasn’t much, but it was funny. “KIRSCHTEIN” was now written in large, bold letters across Marco’s back just below the tan-line of his neck.

“How- How does it look?” He asked.

“Good, yeah good. I just need to spray it and stuff.” I coated the ink with a generous amount of baby powder, and after shaking the can of hairspray, I layered it with that too. I wiped his back with the small hand towel to remove the excess powder.

“Okay, you’re all done!” I cheered in glee, I was fucking proud of myself. “This, my friend, is payback for making me pay for your coffee a few weeks back.” He turned around to face me and an expression of utter terror lay beautifully on his face. I felt a smirk creep its way onto my own.

“What the hell did you write on my back, Jean?” He asked, and I could hear genuine fear in his voice.

“It’s nothing _that_ bad. I didn’t write “FUCK” or anything like that.” It occurred to me then how great that idea actually was. Oh well, no backsies now. He stood up and hurriedly walked past me to his bedroom door on the back wall between the kitchen and the stereo, and I followed him in. He stood with his back to the large, square mirror above his desk, peering over his shoulder at the word in black pen on his back.

“What do you think?” I asked him, still unable to wipe the smirk off my face. He groaned in frustration.

“That’s not cool, Jean. Please tell me this just washes off after a few showers or something?” I shrugged casually and folded my arms over my chest.

“Two months, maybe? Three at most. But what’s the difference really?” I thought it would be a good idea then to run out of his bedroom and hide on the other side of the sofa before he could punch me in the face. He followed me out, but slowly. Not in the manic rush of fury that I was expecting. And then I saw that... he was... _smiling?_ That was terrifying, let me tell you.

“I’m gonna get you back for this, Jean. Just you wait.” I peeked up from my side of the settee and stared at his menacing grin for a moment.  It was genuinely a really scary moment for me. What was he going to do for payback? I found that I was gripping the back of the sofa very tightly and that my knuckles were turning white. And then, just like that,

“So do you want to start unpacking these boxes?” Cheery Marco was back, that dorky smile fastened safely onto his face. He clapped his hands in front of his stomach before he bent down to pick up the first box and walked through to my bedroom.

Fucking terrifying.

* * *

 

“Maybe I’m just a weekend away, baby /or do I need another summer just to try to forget your face? / Am I a weekend away? / Maybe I loved you, but darling, you’re just not worth the chase.”

I tried out the lyrics on my tongue before leaning over the guitar stationed on my lap to write them down in the notepad in front of me. Writing songs was fucking difficult. I strummed down on my guitar again trying to create a string of words to form the first verse, seeing as the only lines that I had so far were actually the chorus. It was a Sunday morning, and I was up early. I had thought that I was almost over Hannah, but when the thought of her kept me up the previous night I decided that maybe I wasn’t just yet. So, I did what any songwriter would do. I sat on the living room floor in what was now mine-and –Marco’s apartment, and I was trying (and quite drastically failing) to write a song about it.

I strummed a chord wrong and out of frustration, I repeated the incorrect sound whilst singing loudly, without a particular melody to it.

“SO FUCK YOOOUUUU, AND FUCK YOUR FUCKING SHIT HEAD OF A NEW BOYFRIENDDD, AND FUCK YOUR FUCKING TULIPSSSSS, GOOOO, FUUUCCCKKKK, YOURSEELFFFFFFF!”

On my last power chord I heard a door creak open behind me and I whipped my head around. Apparently I wasn’t used to having a flatmate just yet, and by the looks of things, neither was Marco. He was stood in the doorframe in his pyjama pants and a baggy t-shirt with the best bed hair I’d ever seen. It stuck up in funny angles and his usually-neat parting had completely vanished. He looked kind of like he did the time we sat on the roof, except you know, he currently looked like he was completely done with my shit. And also tired as hell.

“Crap, sorry man, guess I’m not used to this whole sharing-a-house thing yet.” He rubbed his eyes sleepily and yawned, stretching his arms up above his head.

“Yeah, guess not,” he grumbled. I watched him as he trudged over to the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine.

“Hey, make me one whilst you’re there please? Haven’t really been up that long myself.” That was a lie, I’d been up most of the night, but I didn’t want him to know that. Besides, I still had bed hair and was in my pyjamas myself – he didn’t have to know that I was just being lazy. He nodded and added some water to the machine. I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the television. Nine thirty am.

“Okay, it’s not even that early, it’s already gone nine.” Marco glowered at me. It seemed that this wasn’t the point, so I threw my hands up defensively. “I- I’m really sorry, man. I know you probably just wanted sleep, I just – it’s – I just really need to write some good songs and soon, you know? Sorry again, man.” He relaxed a little and turned back to the coffee.

What have we learnt so far today, Jean?

That Marco is not a morning person, and that I should never wake him up again if I want to keep my balls. Or any other part of my body, actually.

“It’s alright, I get it,” he said eventually. Thank God, I hadn’t traumatised him into speechlessness with my early-morning horrific serenade. “Can I hear what you’ve got so far? You woke me up, after all.”

“Uh, yeah sure.” I picked my guitar up again and propped it upright in my lap. I positioned my fingers against the strings correctly and began to strum along as I sang the words. When I finished, I looked up at Marco for a sign of approval, or disapproval, whichever. He was nodding at me, and he looked impressed, then confused.

“You wrote that?” I nodded. “That’s really good, especially for nine am.”

“Nine thirty,” I corrected him with a wink. “And thanks, I guess. Sorry about the fact that I’m tone deaf, though.” He shook his head at me, taking a sip from his freshly brewed coffee.

“I thought you were pretty good.” He shuffled his hands around the mug in his hands in order to make himself warmer. It was probably hot outside, sure, but our living room was cold as hell that morning for some reason. “Better than a lot of people I’ve heard, anyway.” I shrugged.

“Thanks, man,” I’d always assumed that I couldn’t sing, but I didn’t really know why. Maybe it was because I’d never really judged myself when I was actually trying.

“What about you? Do you sing? Or play any instruments?” Marco paused, staring at a spot on the carpet just in front of me that was apparently very interesting. Then he realised that I was talking to him. I wondered what he was thinking about.

“Oh? Oh. I guess I sing a bit. I mean, I play piano, and sometimes I sing along to it. I’ve been told that I’m alright, but... Piano’s a real passion of mine.” Piano, huh?

“You’ll have to play for me some time,” I told him. “I played you something on guitar, you need to return the favour.” His eyes went wide.

“I- I don’t know, Jean. I don’t usually play for people...”

“Pleeeease? For me?” I batted my eyelashes a few times, trying my best to give him an innocent smile. When he continued to frown, my smile turned into a pout. “Pretty please?” He sighed.

“Fine, I guess so.” I gave a celebratory cheer and stood up to finally retrieve my coffee from the counter behind Marco.

“No backsies?” I quirked my eyebrows at him accusingly. He sighed again.

“No backsies.” I smiled in triumph and raised my mug at him in a mock-toast. I took a long swig of coffee, and immediately spat it down the sink.

“Okay, if we’re gonna live together, there are a few ground rules. The most important one is to never, _ever_ give me a coffee with sugar.” He smiled cheekily at me, and I couldn’t help it; it was fucking contagious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahahahahaha I may have gotten a little carried away with the song... so yeah. You can copy and paste the website address to listen to me trying to sing the chorus of Jean's song or whatever--> http://vocaroo.com/i/s0W6pfveeCkl
> 
> Also, you've been too happy for too long now, friends! The next chapter contains sads again. Oopsie?
> 
> From the next chapter onwards I think the chapters are going to be getting a bit longer (probably around 5,000 to 6,000 words, which is a lot compared to this chapter at 3698 words) so they may not be up weekly anymore, however, it shouldn't be too far off from weekly so be sure to check up on the fic because I'll definitely still be writing it!
> 
> If you were wondering, I found the thing about the sharpie-tattoos online and as far as I'm aware, yes, that does actually work.
> 
> What else... Oh! This fic's nearly at 900 hits! I think I might cry because that's a lot of people. I loves y'all. 
> 
> I think that's everything? Anyways, please continue to leave comments and kudos and such because that means a helluvalot to me<3 I shall see you next chapter!
> 
> EDIT: This fic just reached 1,000 hits! Oh my goodness, where are the party poppers? Thank you all so much for everything, I love writing this but thank you for being the motivation that I need to keep going with it!


	7. Phone calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are phone calls and phobias.

I groaned as I rolled over to avoid the beam of sunlight that was hitting me directly in the eyes. ‘ _So fucking early’_ was all that I could think, my thoughts still too groggy to actually string a full sentence together, let alone an important one. _So, so fucking early._ My comforter felt like a cocoon of feathers and warmth that I never wanted to leave, it had gotten to that point where my body had gone numb and I felt like I couldn’t physically move because I was so comfortable. That was why it felt like hell when I heard the buzzing of my phone against the surface of my wooden desk.

“No.” I groaned aloud to the inanimate object on the other side of my bedroom. It continued to buzz, and I realised that it must be a phone call. Instead of getting up to answer the damn thing, I decided to roll over and snuggle up further into the comforter to curl up against the wall. ‘ _Should’ve put it on mute,’_ I thought, ‘ _so early. So fucking early.’_ When the phone still continued to buzz against the surface, I gave up and rolled out of bed, although I still refused to remove myself of the comfortable blanket hanging around my shoulders. I crawled (Read: wiggled) over to my desk and reached above me to snatch the mobile phone from the table, missing a few times at first.

I flopped back down onto the floor, still wrapped in my personal bubble of clouds and cushions and general loveliness. (Don’t tell anyone I used that metaphor – it makes me sound like a pansy... I’m not a pansy). I unlocked the phone secured by a pass code with a background picture of the selfie I took the time I met Stevie Nicks, (which was still easily the best day of my life,) to see that I had three missed calls from a blocked number. I checked the time at the top of the screen – 6:45. Who the fuck would be such an asshole as to wake me up 45 minutes before I needed to, and a whole 75 minutes before my shift started? Whoever it was, I decided already that they were probably a dickwad.

My phone began to vibrate again and it practically started jumping out of my grasp.

“Shit. Fuck. Stop that. Come back.” I knew full well that my phone couldn’t _actually_ hear me, but I didn’t really care. When I eventually caught it again and managed, somehow, to stop it from leaping away from me, I slid the screen from the left across to the right to accept the call. Probably vodaphone of something.

“Jean Kirschtein speaking.” The statement came out sounding more like a question, and a measly one at that. My voice sounded clogged so I coughed a few times. I secretly hoped that my anonymous caller would feel bad for waking me up. It wasn’t even seven-o-bloody-clock yet.

“Uh, hey, Jean.”

I knew that voice. Where did I know that voice? It was too early to match voices to faces I swear to God, I hadn’t even had my coffee yet – whenever I figured out who this was they were going to be in for one hell of a-

“I really think we need to talk.”

My entire body froze. There were a lot of people that the caller could have been. Maybe it was Reiner asking to meet up later. Maybe it was Connie being a jerk and waking me up so that I was definitely on time today. Maybe it was Sasha, asking if I had some spare potato chips because she finished her last bag. But Hannah? This, I was not expecting.

I didn’t know what to feel. Was I supposed to be relieved that she’d finally called me? I hadn’t seen her for over three weeks now. We hadn’t even _spoken_ for over three weeks. Was I supposed to be angry? Angry that she was asking me to talk to her after she so obviously fucked up? Was I supposed to feel happy because hey, maybe she still had feelings for me after all? I didn’t know what to feel. I felt everything, I felt nothing.

My stomach was performing back flips and somersaults at the same time, resulting in one uncomfortable, twisted, rotating feeling inside me. I felt like there was a wad of cotton balls in my mouth soaking up every last bit of saliva so that my mouth felt like a goddamned desert. My throat felt like sandpaper, and there was something stuck in it. Something huge, making it difficult to talk, difficult to breathe. Was I going to be sick? Holy shit. I was going to be sick. _Can’t breathe._

I dropped my phone on the floor, forgetting to end the call, and scrambled up to my feet finally abandoning the chequered quilt. My head started to pound and my vision was turning blotchy, turning black. _Can’t breathe. Can’t see_. I tried to move my body forward but my feet refused, my legs felt weak, like they weren’t mine, like I was an amateur trying to walk on stilts, and they collapsed beneath me. _Can’t breathe. Can’t see. Can’t walk._

My arms felt limp beside me. I was overreacting. I was totally, totally overreacting. _She’s just your ex-girlfriend. She’s not an axe murderer. You didn’t do anything wrong anyway, she’s the one who did wrong, remember?_

I drew in a deep, shaky breath followed by a trembling exhale. I wasn’t going to be sick. I was fine. I swallowed the little saliva that had re-formed in my mouth, still focusing on my quavering breath. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I was fine.

I crawled back over to where my phone lay abandoned on the beige carpet.

“...are you still there? Jean?” Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“Yeah, sorry, I uh... I dropped my phone.” I hoped that she would buy my pathetic excuse, and in all honesty I think she did.

“So anyway...” She started again. She sounded so awkward over the phone, and I mean _really_ awkward, but not guilty. Not in the slightest bit guilty – that hurt. “Like I said, I think we need to talk.”

“What is there to talk about?” There was a long, long pause, only disrupted by the sound of Hannah’s breath every time she was about to say something, but decided against it. I tucked my knees up against my chest and suddenly the cuticles of my fingernails were very interesting. Yep, very very interesting. Actually, they were pretty gross, if I’m honest with you.

  “Look Jean, I know what I want to say, I just don’t know how to word it.” Tch. I call bullshit.

“Then... tell me how it sounds in your head.” There was silence again and a rustling on her end of the line – fuck knows what she was doing.

“I...” She hesitated. I wanted her to get on with it for God’s sake; I really didn’t want this conversation, especially when I’d just woken up. “I guess I want to apologise – but! Before you yell at me!” I closed my mouth. I was one hundred percent ready to yell. “I know I was wrong. I was so, so wrong, I get that. I don’t know why I did it; it was just a one night thing, Jean! I swear! We were drunk and one thing lead to another and... I’m sorry, Jean. I really am, I-” There was a break in her rambling and I thought I heard a whimper and a sniff. Don’t cry, oh God, no. Maybe she had cheated on me, but the thought of her crying, and because of _me,_ still broke my heart.

Agh! Goddamnit, Jean! No! _She fucked up._ I couldn’t seem to snap into that. I loved her. I still had feelings for her. Oh, God, what was wrong with me?

“...Only one night?” What. Was. Wrong. With. Me. I heard her sigh happily on the other end of the line.

“Yes! It was one night, I promise, I love you I love you I love you. There’s no one but you, Jean.” I noticed how she kept slipping my name into her sentences where there wasn’t really a need to. That was a trick she’d learnt when we fought – she knew that I loved it when she said my name.

Using my weaknesses against me, I see. That’s my girl.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT. NO. NOT MY GIRL. I couldn’t do it again. I just couldn’t.

“...Well that’s one night you shouldn’t’ve spent with him!” I ended the call and let out a long breath that I hadn’t realised I was holding in. The wording of my ‘burn’ line hadn’t quite worked how I had wanted it to, but it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. I didn’t stutter, for one thing.

I deflated against the side of my desk and groaned loudly.

I threw a mini hissy-fit on the floor, flailing around and thumping my hands and feet repeatedly against the carpet. I felt like shit. I slid down my wooden back-rest until I was completely lying down, the beam of sunlight having moved so that it was now just to the right of my head. I felt like utter shit. She was sorry. She was drunk. It wasn’t her fault.

I should’ve forgiven her.

I hated myself for being the kind of guy who kept a grudge. I knew that I still had feelings for her, but I still couldn’t forgive her. I hated myself for that. She had sounded so apologetic, so sincere – _but not guilty,_ I reminded myself. I didn’t know what the right thing to do was, so I decided on trying to let out my pain through another groan, even longer and even louder than the first. Apparently too long, and too loud. My bedroom door creaked slowly open.

“Uh, hey, Jean? Are you um... Are you okay?” I tilted my head back against the floor (which hurt my neck a little) to see that Marco had appeared around the edge of the slightly-open door. After seeing him, I relaxed my body and flopped back down with a “Fwump” into a pathetic shape that pretty accurately represented how I felt.

“No.” I whinged, sharp and angsty. I saw Marco appear above me, leaning down over my head still in his pyjama bottoms and shirtless. His muscle game was strong today. He started to chew his bottom lip as he folded his arms and continued to stare at me.

“I’ll make you a coffee.” I breathed out a thank you and flopped one arm over my eyes as the streak of sun moved over my face again, and Marco left. I was an asshole. I picked up my phone again to check the time – 7:06 – and felt my phone vibrate once, briefly, and I read my new message as it rolled across the top of the screen.

**From: Blocked Number**

**I’m really sorry Jean, I love you. Let me know if you change your mind. Xxx**

I groaned one last time before trying my luck at using my feet again. Fuck her with her good grammar.

I slowly, uselessly, plodded through into the kitchen where Marco was just about finishing up with two cups of coffee. He handed one to me with a weak, apologetic smile, but without saying a word. I was grateful for that.

I practically inhaled the coffee I drank it so fast, the scolding liquid burning the back of my throat as it went. Ah yes. Dark, bitter and probably gross to anyone else. Kinda like my soul at that point in time.

I placed the mug back down on the counter beside me and refilled it quickly. Marco looked concerned, but he didn’t act upon it. I was going to need as much caffeine as I could get today. I stared into my mug this time, almost filled to the brim with black liquid. I could feel Marco’s eyes boring into my skull. He was concerned, too kind, goddamnit Marco. Your sister’s made me into a pile of shit.

“My ex,” I started, finally looking up from the coffee mug to look Marco in the eyes. He briefly looked surprised, but his expression was quickly replaced with one of interest. I didn’t really care if he was listening or not, but I guess it was kinda nice to know that he was. “She...” I paused. “She cheated on me. A few weeks ago. And she just called to apologise to me and I... I didn’t forgive her. I should have, I know, she was drunk and she said it was an accident and I-- I don’t know. I just feel like...” Like a syphilis squid, if Sasha could form an insulting name based on how I was really feeling. I decided, instead of elaborating, to draw my sentence to a close.

There was almost-silence. I didn’t even know why I thought it was a good idea to tell him all this. All I could hear was the thudding of my heartbeat, still heavy and fast, pounding at my eardrums.

“I’m really sorry, Jean.” Marco told me. He looked like her, with his freckles and his hair and-- wait. No. That was... it. Hannah didn’t have his coffee-chocolate, captivating eyes. She didn’t have his firm jaw line, sharp and square. She didn’t have the sympathetic smile that he was currently giving me. Her eyebrows didn’t draw in or tilt up above the bridge of her nose in concern. She didn’t try to smile softly when she could tell that I was upset, mad, confused. She wasn’t like him. They weren’t alike at all.

She hadn’t sat with me on the rooftop when we barely knew each other. She didn’t have my name drawn over her shoulders in sharpie pen. She wasn’t the one I’d introduced to my friends in a bowling battle. She wasn’t the one Reiner thought was cute. She wasn’t the one who was still first-kiss-less. She wasn’t 5’ 11”. She wasn’t my new roommate.

She wasn’t Marco.

I gave him a pretty pathetic, obviously fake smile, (which I didn’t intend for it to be,) and excused myself out onto the balcony. It wasn’t hot yet, now that we were finally getting into the early autumn. Still in my pyjamas with bare feet, I hoisted myself up onto the chair, the fence, the roof. I walked over a few feet so that I wasn’t too close to the edge, and I sat down with the early morning breeze rustling through my mousey brown hair. I had to squint slightly to see through the wind, but I was okay with that.

In that moment, my life felt like a freaking 80’s movie. The guy with the broken heart who goes onto the roof to try to escape his feelings. But in all honesty, that was what it was. I folded my body so that I was holding my legs, sitting upright, with my right foot tucked underneath my left. The black pit in my stomach was back, so I decided to do what I did last time, more or less.

My phone made a light tap-tap noise as I selected Reiner’s entry on my contact list. I slid my thumb over the screen of the phone so that it began to dial. It rang eleven times before it went to answer phone.

“Hey, you’ve reached Reiner’s voicemail, I’ll urh – Bert, stop! –” There was faint giggling in the background. I didn’t want to know. “ – I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”

The voicemail was rushed towards the end and it finished abruptly, so I hadn’t really had a chance to decide what I wanted to say in the message yet.  I decided to settle for short and simple.

“She called me.” I think I sighed into the microphone, too, before hanging up. I locked the device after turning the volume back on so that I would hear it if he rang back, and slipped it underneath my left thigh.

I suddenly wanted to scream.

I was so frustrated; I had no idea what I was supposed to do. What she wanted me to do, what _I_ wanted to do, what I _needed_ to do. I didn’t have the slightest clue. I shuffled around to my knees and found that my hands had curled up into fists at my sides. My vision was going foggy again, steaming up with the beginnings of tears. I was a wimp. A loser. Stupid. Worthless. I needed her. I didn’t deserve this... did I?

I tried to think back over my life to try to find something, anything, that I might’ve done to make some sort of superior being, (if there was one out there), hate me enough to trigger this event. I’d done some pretty shitty things in my time, but I couldn’t place anything _so_ bad that would create the need for me to feel pain like this. So much pain.

I felt the first drop roll down my cheek and I doubled over with shame, my hands hooked over the caps of my knees. I was an embarrassment. Everyone goes through breakups, I was nothing special. We were nothing special.

The droplets kept rolling, rolling, rolling over my cheeks. They dripped off the tip of my nose, the edges and the bottom of my angled jaw.  They got caught in my eyelashes when I refused to blink them away, refused to display my weakness, how fractured and broken I felt. I was fragile.

I was an old china plate, and I’d been thrown onto the floor carelessly. I was in one thousand, tiny broken pieces.

I was her balloon. I’d been blown up and up with these feelings, with this relationship, and when they had burst I became nothing. Nothing but a shrivelled piece of useless plastic.

The opening guitar riff of Mr. Brightside started to blare out of the speakers on my phone to announce the incoming of Reiner’s call. I needed to change that. I was mildly impressed at his efficiency, though; I hadn’t even rung him a whole five minutes ago. I picked up as soon as I could find the damn thing (as it was now squished underneath my left butt cheek). There was silence on both ends of the line, so I decided it would be best to break it.

“Hey.” I sniffed. Fuck. I hoped he hadn’t heard that.

“Hey man, how’re you, um... How’re you feeling?” I gave a strangled choke of laughter.

“Like someone threw me in a body sack and tossed me into a fucking chasm, dude.” Reiner attempted a laugh in order to try to make me feel better. I appreciated the fact that he was trying, at least.

“What exactly did she say?” When I didn’t respond, he pressed on a bit further. “Jean, I might be able to help, man. If you don’t tell anyone about it you’re just gonna mope around and it’ll just get worse.” _But I’ve already told Marco_ , I thought.

It occurred to me then that I didn’t really _want_ to talk about it. Not anymore, not again. I wanted to sit alone and wallow in my self-pity until the feeling was gone. Until I’d filled the aching bullet wound in my chest with alcohol and shitty love songs. Filled it with Ben-and-Jerry’s and my showers of tears that I was bound to cry out, no matter how pathetic, how stupid, how pointless it was. But Reiner was a better friend than that; he wouldn’t want me to go through it alone. He wanted to know what was going on so that he could support me through it, right? So that he could help me take my mind off it.

“She told me that she was sorry.” My voice was shaky and I sounded airy, light, weak. Reiner snorted and told me that it was all BS, but I ignored him and continued. “She was drunk, Reiner. I should’ve forgiven her! She said there was no one else but m-”

“HAH! Jean, she should know better than that. If she loved you as much as she said she did she would’ve been able to control herself to not cheat on you, even if she was under the influence of alcohol.” I chewed my bottom lip and let go of the phone, pressing it between the side of my face and my shoulder instead as I cradled it in the crook of my neck.  Was he right? I stared out across Trost, across the grand park opposite our apartment with the giant oak tree in the middle, the exact one that we had hung Hannah’s belongings in.

My pain grew considerably larger, spreading outwards like wildfire. It coursed through my veins, filling my entire body. Through my arteries, following my bloodstream, filling my being from my chewed down fingernails to the tips of my split-ended hair, matted and unkempt from where I’d clawed at it in frustration. My arms and shoulders became limp and I heard the clattering of my phone against the concrete that I was kneeling on.

I doubled over, I couldn’t cope with that much pain. I wanted it to go away damn it, I didn’t want to hurt like this anymore, I didn’t want to hurt like this ever again. I rocked forward and back on my heels and felt a sense of déjà vu from earlier. Forward, Back. Forward, Back. There was a layer of cloud in front of my eyes. No, no not again, please not again.

 I took in a deep breath of heavy, humid air and held it for a moment before getting rid of it in one long and exaggerated sigh.

And then I screamed.

It was strangled and it didn’t sound how I felt. It didn’t sound angry, sad, confused, hopeless and helpless all at the same time. It didn’t display any of those emotions. It didn’t announce to the world that I was hurting, that I was admitting my defeat to Hannah Bodt. She had beaten me. She had broken me.

Instead it just sounded... lost. Like a baby wolf’s howl, lost and alone, without its family. Lost. Alone. Maybe it wasn’t as far from how I was feeling as I had first thought.

I fell onto my back and let the droplets of salty water spill out from underneath my eyelids. I let them plummet off the edges of my face and crash against the concrete, breaking with the impact. I let them behave just like I was feeling.

I wanted the aching to stop, I wanted my wounds and scars to close and heal over, I wanted to start again. I wanted to find someone else. I wanted to be able to feel the experience of falling for someone without the train wreck of an ending that I was so used to having, the ending that seemed to be necessary to all of my relationships.

But I knew that that wasn’t really what I wanted.

What I really wanted was to be able to forgive her.

I had so many conflicting feelings. I hated myself; I should have been able to give her a second chance. I hated her for sleeping with him. But even if she was telling the truth, I supposed that Reiner was right. I was always able to control myself when drunk, (at least to the extent of, you know, not sleeping with someone other than my girlfriend,) so why couldn’t she? But I loved her. I loved her so much that here I was, lying on the roof of my apartment building sprawled out like a starfish, crying a river for a girl that I knew I needed to forget about.

The sound of scrambling limbs hit my ears, elbows scraping on concrete, pulling up a body which was grunting from the effort. I lifted my head from where it was secured shamefully between my knees to find that my freckled flatmate was walking towards me. I desperately tried to avoid looking him in the eyes, because I knew how revealing my facial expression always was. No matter how hard I tried, I could never conceal the emotions that I was feeling. I really did wear my heart on my sleeve to show the world, wherever I went.

My mother had always been obtusely aware of that fact. I remember once I came home from school after a particularly difficult day. It was in the stage where I was completely friendless, totally alone no matter what was happening around me. I had no one but my mom and dad. I remember walking through the front door of my house, earphones in and hood up as per usual, wearing my best fake smile. I had thought that if I made my arrival short and sweet, I could keep up the act fairly easily. Boy, was I wrong. As soon as I’d said hello to mom, she’d pulled me into this huge hug, which was actually a lot more comforting than I’d care to admit. She had held me close to her and stroked my hair soothingly, telling me that she knew how I was feeling and that there was no point trying to hide it, especially from her.

That night, she and dad had taken me to the animal shelter and told me that they were letting me get a pet, of my choice. I’d had my headphones in, of course, listening to Fleetwood Mac, my favourite band of the time. Dad had told me a few times to turn it down because it couldn’t have been good for my hearing if he could hear it too, but needless to say I didn’t.

I strolled around aimlessly for a while, not really wanting to be there, trying to convince my parents that I was fine getting through things the way I was, that getting a pet would just feel patronising. But they weren’t having it. It wasn’t until I found an obscenely small bulldog that I thought, hey, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

He was in a cage surrounded by other bulldogs, most likely his brothers and sisters, but he was the one that drew my attention. The other puppies were socialising with one another, playing together, but this one dog was curled up all alone in the corner. At first I felt sympathy for it, I felt sorry for the poor thing. But then my sympathy changed to empathy when I found that... well... it reminded me of myself. He looked sad, he looked lost, and above all he looked so alone. I had kneeled on the other side of the netting to the cage, right next to the obviously-runt-of-the-litter with nothing but a wire barrier between us.

It had looked at me as I sat down, staring at me with its deep black eyes, empty, hollow. It was like seeing a mirror image of myself in the form of an undersized dog. I unplugged my iPod so that it was playing aloud, and I kid you not, he looked as though he was smiling at me. I chose him immediately, and named him Fleetwood, after the band that caused us to unite.

Mom had frowned at me when I’d shown him to her. She’d asked me if I definitely wanted that one, that I should consider choosing one of the healthier, livelier looking puppies. I told her that I didn’t care, that I wanted Fleetwood. She didn’t argue then. I decided not to tell her that it was because I saw myself in him.

From then onwards, things became easier. I found comfort in the puppy, in the memory of my mom’s warm embrace on that afternoon. I hadn’t had a moment that hurt as much as that morning until the incident with Hannah. And I don’t know if it was just because of time healing my past wounds, of if it really was ten times worse, but that was how it felt. If that morning was a knife to the shoulder, this was a bullet to the chest.

Marco stood there for a moment at the edge of the roof, repeatedly shifting his weight from his right leg to his left, to his right, to his left. He wrung his hands again and again when they weren’t combing through his hair, continuously fighting against the morning breeze that was attempting to plaster it to his face. His eyes were narrow, squinting, and his face was scrunched up so that he could see through the pressure of the wind.

An uncomfortable silence filled the atmosphere. I wanted him to either sit his freckled ass next to me on the concrete and try to comfort me, or leave me the fuck alone. I’ve got to be honest; I really, _really_ didn’t care which, just anything to break the awkward-as-fuck thick coating that was the present stillness.

“So... this breakup’s really getting to you, huh?” Well no fucking shit. I gave him a weak nod accompanied by a half smile in the hope that it would somehow miraculously tell him to move. Somewhere. _Anywhere._ I really didn’t give a flying fuck.

I almost thought that it had when he started forward, until his body stuttered and he decided to stay put. I could see him eyeing the spot next to me from the corner of my eye, his line of sight flickering between my face and the patch of roof to my right as though waiting for my permission to join me. I gave in and patted the spot beside me, not realising that it was layered with crusted, dry bird shit.

“Fucking disgusting,” I moaned, brushing my hand up and down on my pyjama pants despite the fact that there wasn’t actually any bird excrement on it. I heard Marco snicker light-heartedly which forced a smile, albeit a small one, onto my face as I glared up at him. He instead sat to my left, strategically avoiding the various clumps of bird shit that I previously hadn’t even noticed. It literally looked like there had been some sort of bird tornado over our apartment building last night, and they had all shat themselves because they were so scared. A bird-nado.

The silence around us transformed into a slightly more comfortable one, one that allowed me to unfold my legs and let them stretch out in front of me, allowed me to lean back onto my hands, arms outstretched behind me, drumming my fingers lightly on the cold hard floor. I let my head fall back onto my shoulders as I stared up at the pale blue sky, absolutely cloudless. What I wouldn’t give for a drop of rain – Trost had been dry as a buried skeleton over the past few weeks. (Or months, I wasn’t so good at keeping track of time).

I closed my eyes, my head still facing upwards, and remained still as the breeze flew across my face, rustling its way through my hair. If I couldn’t have rain, I guess I could settle for a good breeze.

“Do you want to... talk about it? More?” I probably would have forgotten that Marco was even there if not for the feeling of his hand resting so close to mine that it felt as though there were a ghost with me. I let out a long breath that quavered with my nerves as my shoulders shuddered. I remembered what my mom had always said to me in high school, in the days after Rachel (but before Louise) when I... let’s face it, I was a loner. “Talking always helps,” she’d told me. And that was it, really, but I suppose a part of the persuasion came in the form of the hug that always accompanied those words and the delicate kiss on the forehead that always felt slightly fragile.

She was right, though. I had always felt a little more at ease when I’d told her about whatever was on my mind, even though I sounded pathetic. I was a pretty pathetic person, really, in my years at high school. I liked to think that I’d gotten at least a _bit_ better since then – I mean for one thing I had friends now – but I still completely melted down as soon as my feelings got involved.

“You can just rant if you want, I don’t really mind.” He paused. “I heard you scream, and I – Well I mean – people probably thought you were going to _jump_ or something. It was pretty loud.” He gave a forced laugh that was more or less just a huff of air. It didn’t suit him. When I didn’t respond in any way at all, his eyes widened and he turned his entire body to look at me, slightly open mouthed. His body looked twisted and uncomfortable, one of his arms looped under his leg from where he had shifted so that I was in his direct line of sight.

“Y- You weren’t going to... were you?” The realization of what he’d just said kicked in.

“What? No! No, man, no. Nothing like that. I just... Gah, I don’t know, I just needed to let it out, you know?” He nodded slowly, knowingly.

“Yeah, I know.” He turned again so that he was in the same position as before, so that we were sat side-by-side again staring out over the city. I knew for a fact that I was going to be late for work that day, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything. I let my arms give way beneath me so that I was lying down flat on my back, staring up at the pasty sky with Marco sat by my side.

“I really loved her. Heck, I still do, but I hate her.” I said it so quietly that I was surprised Marco even heard me; nevertheless he nodded along to my words, staring out over the buildings before us. He looked so absent, lost in thought, and I wondered what he could be thinking of.

“You hate that you love her,” he responded, just as quiet as my statement before. I exhaled loudly and cupped my chin in the palms of my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. I could never sit still when I felt anxious.

“I don’t get it, how do you understand me so well? I mean, we barely know anything about each other.” He scoffed and slung one arm over his knees.

“Okay then,” he paused, “What are you afraid of?”

“That was a bit out of the blue,” I stared at him, confused, but Marco just shrugged at me in response.

“I’m getting to know you and also changing the subject for you. So, Jean, what are your fears?” The question took me aback a bit. I peered over my knees to stare at the ground like I often did when I was thinking. What _was_ I afraid of? Well, I mean, it depended on what he meant by that of course. Did he mean it physically? For example, something you could interact with like a bat or a large dog, or did he mean things that could happen to you like... _death?_

“Clarify.”

“What?”

“What do you mean by fears?” Marco’s eyes darted around, his eyebrows drawn in, and he started to chew his bottom lip, showing his top front teeth when he pulled on it.

“I mean anything that you’re afraid of,” he paused and turned his head to look up at me instead. “For example, I’m afraid of... falling. As in, from a height.” I could feel my face wrinkling up as I scoffed.

“Then why the hell is this roof your favourite place?” His head rolled forwards, away from his rising and falling shoulders as he chuckled. And it really was just that, a full on _chuckle._

“I don’t really know, if I’m honest with you,” He flung his head back again so that he was staring up at the sky, and I joined him. There were a few clouds now, though still not many at all. Not enough to make shapes of, just a few streaks and wisps of white paint that had been splattered across the powdery canvas. “I suppose... Hmm. I like the thrill of it. I’m terrified that I’ll fall, absolutely _petrified,_ but at the same time I love the feeling. Do you know what I mean? It’s the adrenaline. I love it.”

I nodded slowly, I _did_ know what he meant, I guess. I didn’t have anything like that; all of my fears genuinely scared me. I didn’t have anything that made me feel excited and nervous all at once, nothing that made my stomach spin to the point of feeling sick but not knowing if it was because of the adrenaline or the fear. I didn’t know that feeling. Not yet, at least.

“What else, then? What scares you that _doesn’t_ get you pumped?” There was silence for a while, other than the sound of the birds chirping softly in the trees nearby. For a city, there were a lot of trees, especially near our apartment block. I felt calm. I closed my eyes to focus of the feeling of the breeze washing over my face, the sound of it rustling through the leaves – whether they were still on the trees or among the few that were starting to fall from them.

“Pain.” Wow, deep, Marco.

“Pain?”

“Pain.”

“Elaborate.”

“On?”

“What _kind_ of pain?”

There was another, shorter silence before he continued.

“Any, really. I initially meant mentally I suppose, family or friends dying and things,-” I winced, “-but then again, I can’t say I welcome the idea of physical pain, either.” He did the forced-laugh thing again. He really needed to stop that. “But enough about me,” he elbowed me playfully in the arm, “what about you?” I turned to look at him and found that he was still looking at me, too. I thought he’d already looked away.

“Bugs.” Marco laughed at me, the little shit. “Hey! I’ll have you know they’re really gross and slimy and they have like, eight million eyes and twelve billion legs. That’s not normal. And they’re so small which just makes the eyes-and-legs things even weirder, and just, just _no_ with the bugs!” I physically cringed having just _talked_ about them, my entire body wriggled on the spot and my hands did this spastic-shaky thing. Not to mention the audible “Bleurgh!” sound that I didn’t mean to make.

He shook his head slowly with it hanging low, a dorky smile back on his face that had been demolished for a moment during the “pain” conversation.

“You sound just like my sister, you know,” Which one? “She would love this, sitting on the roof and talking about fears and stuff.” _Which one?_ “I could set you up with her, if you want me to?” WHICH FUCKI-

“Which one?”

“Oh! I uh, I have four, actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck and I tried to act surprised.

“Wow, that’s uh... That’s a lot of sisters!” Way to go, Jean. Your fake-surprise-voice is shit. However, Marco didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah... Anyway, I was thinking of setting you up with Louise, I think she’d probably be a few months younger than you but you guys might hit it off!”I gave an internal sigh. If only you knew, my freckled friend. If only you knew. I was kind of surprised he hadn’t said Hannah anyway, I didn’t _want_ him to say Hannah, but I thought that we were an obviously-more-compatible pair of people.

“Ah, yeah, no, that won’t be necessary, but thanks for the offer. I’ve got to get over _this_ girl before I move on to the next. It wouldn’t be fair on... Louise, was it?”

“Yeah, Louise,” He nodded, “I understand.”

“That reminds me of another fear actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, rejection, I guess,” I laughed, “Call me soppy and whatever, but what can you expect from a twenty year old guy that writes songs and works in Starbucks? I am literally the main male character in every chick flick known to mankind.” Marco laughed with me, but not a fake one this time. An all out heart-warmingly genuine laugh. It felt nice to know that I was the source of it.

“I’m quite the opposite,” He added, “Don’t... don’t make fun of me here.” I placed one hand melodramatically over my heart.

“I am offended that you think of me in such ways!” And then added, on a more serious note, “No man, why would I make fun of you for something you’re afraid of? Even _I_ know that that’s a dick move.” He gave a harsh huff of air through his nose before taking in a deep breath.

“I guess I’m afraid of... of falling in love.” There was silence. He was afraid of... falling in love? I’d never heard that one before. How could you be scared of loving someone? Did he... did he never _want_ to be in love? I’d been in love – I’d been in love with Hannah, and falling for her was the...

Wait.

I couldn’t remember ever actually falling in love with her. I loved her, sure, but when I thought back on it I realised that I never had that feeling of actually falling for her. She was a beautiful girl that I was lucky to meet and... and I don’t _know_ how it happened, I just started to love her. Was realising this a sign? Was she really _not_ the one? Was Reiner right?  Did I have to put myself out there and start looking for someone else, brush her aside?

“Please say something,” Marco sighed. I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak. My eyes were locked in place staring at a flake of lighter sky. I was so worked up over her, but I didn’t ever fall in love with her. Did that mean... did that mean I never truly loved her? Was that just some crazy-ass crush? If it was, then boy was I gonna have a problem when I found the right girl.

I was shocked. I was speechless. My mind became one foggy, jumbled cluster of thoughts and shapes and memories and I didn’t know which was which anymore. I couldn’t separate truths from lies. I couldn’t tell what was even real anymore.

_Was I ever really in love with her?_

I must have been. I was reacting so strongly to this break-up, I’d never felt worse in my life (and I’d been through some shit in high school). My heart was pounding frantically again, loud and fast in my ears. Thud. Thud. Thud. I didn’t know what love was anymore. I’d always been so confident, so sure that Hannah was the one for me. So desperately addicted to her that there wasn’t even the slightest chance that there could ever be anyone else – but... but that wasn’t true now. She was gone. We were over. I didn’t ever love her to my heart’s full capacity.

I laughed. This was it, this was me realising.

This was me finally, _finally_ realising that I wall fully capable of loving someone else, and ten times stronger than I ever did for her.

“Jean? Are you okay?” I turned to look at Marco, who looked concerned. Whether it was for himself or for me, I don’t think I’ll ever work out.

“Yeah,” I beamed, “Yeah, I... I haven’t felt this good in weeks.” His face contorted to a new expression, and it wasn’t difficult to analyse that he was very, very confused. I couldn’t blame him. When you tell your flatmate you’re afraid of falling in love, you probably don’t expect them to laugh and say that they feel fantastic.

“You just... helped me realise something, is all.” He nodded slowly, his features not moving at all, and he almost looked like a video of one of those bobble head toys that was being played in ultra slow motion. “I don’t think I ever loved her,” I continued to beam, and I still wasn’t sure Marco understood me, but I didn’t care. I felt over the moon. That morning had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and it wasn’t even eight am.

Actually – what _was_ the time?

I checked my phone to look at the digits glowing at the top of the screen.

“Shit. Marco, this conversation’s been great and I really want to finish it with you when I get back because this topic just got interesting but my shift starts in five minutes, and I’m still in my pyjamas.”

I heard him laughing in the background as I scrambled off the roof, cursing loudly the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter, sorry 'bout that. (Unless of course you like long chapters, in which case you are very welcome).
> 
> Unfortunately, I am to admit that I have barely started chapter 8 -shameful sobbing- but I'm also going to cram write over the next couple days. I am back to school now ew so not writing as often, but like I say in every update I am still writing and uploading as much as possible! 
> 
> I can't believe how many people are reading this fic, y'all are amazing. Please do continue to leave comments and kudos and such because I honestly can't stress enough how much it means to me<3
> 
> I hope you're all still enjoying reading the fifth Bodt as much as I'm most definitely still enjoying writing it!


	8. The Piano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean hears Marco play the piano for the first time (amongst other things).

Marco stopped by the coffee shop every single day at ten am without fail, and the morning of the phobia discussion was no exception.

10:01, according to my phone, and the door swung open to reveal the freckled man with the middle parting once again, this time sporting his nerdy physics t-shirts with the elements oxygen and magnesium to say “OMG.” 

“You’re late,” I told him as he stood across from me on the other side of the counter. He raised his eyebrows at me as if to say ‘wow, really?’ with his face and I chuckled.

“I forgot to ask earlier, what’re you doing on Saturday?” He asked as I scribbled the word ‘polo’ on his cup.

“After work? Nothing, I don’t think. Why?”

“We’re going to an eighties club. And by ‘we’ I mean just-us-at-the-moment-but-could-you-please-invite-the-others. I mean, if- if you want to.” An eighties club? I’d never been to one before, but in all honesty I’d kinda wanted to for a long time. It was just one of those things that you want to do but there isn’t really a reason why. It was on my bucket list, if you will.

“Yeah, sure. That sounds like a cool idea actually,” he smiled at me and I was sure to tell him that I would invite everyone that had been at the bowl-off before he took a seat and resumed typing, the same as every day. After a moment or two, I jumped when I felt an arm sling over my shoulders. I looked to the left, however, to only find Sasha leaning on me, staring over to where Marco was sat.

“Did Marco just ask you out on a date?” She asked.

“No!” I spluttered, “What? No! I was about to ask you guys if you wanted to come too, he invited all of us! He- he just asked me first!” She stared at me with her eyebrows high and her mouth to one side in a smirk. She was one of my best friends, but she was also full of shit sometimes.

“Mhm. And where exactly are we going?”

“An eighties club. On Saturday. Ask Connie if he can come too.” Speak of the devil, Connie literally popped up behind Sasha. He did that a lot actually; maybe she just kept him in her pocket. He was probably small enough, to be honest.

“I heard my name,” he stated.

“Yeah,” Sasha continued for me, “we’re going on a double date with Jean and Marco!” I felt my face grow hot - infuriatingly so.

“It’s not a date, Sasha, for the last time! And the others are coming too!”

“Reiner, Bert, Ymir and Christa? Oh, sorry,”

“Yes. Thank you.” She then directed her words back to Connie.

“We’re going on a quadruple date!” I seriously felt like slamming my head on the counter there and then. Repeatedly. In fact, I very almost did.

“Sasha! For god’s sake! Mikasa and Annie are coming too!” She rolled her eyes at me.

“Jeez, sorry stressy Bessie, I was just joking around.” I could feel how red my face looked and my stomach was tense. Yeah, sure sounded like it.

“We’ll come, I think it’s a great idea,” Connie finally said before squeezing Sasha’s shoulder and walking away.

“On a completely different note, though, are you sure you and Marco aren’t... you know...” What, Sasha? Sure we aren’t a what? I dare you to say it. “An... _item?”_ Don’t yell, Jean. It’s what she wants.

What did Connie teach you? Ah yes. The wild Sasha seeks to annoy her prey. She targets weak points, points that she _knows_ will trigger a response. I wasn’t willing to admit my defeat. Not today, wild Sasha. Not today.

“No, we’re not, we’re just flatmates and friends. Topic closed.”

“Oh! Good!” She began to twiddle her fingers in front of her as she looked down at them.  “Because I may or may not have promised my friend that I’d set her up with someone to return a favour and I may or may not have told her I have a cute single friend called Jean?”  I exhaled loudly. God damn it.

“Why me?” It was a fair question, in my defence, but she looked offended all the same.

“Jean, I just openly called you cute, told a _friend_ that you were cute, and you’re getting mad? I’m doing you a favour here, buddy.” I guessed I could do with getting out there in fairness. The worst that could happen was that it wouldn’t go all that well and we wouldn’t get together, right? Not to mention Sasha _had_ helped me with the whole ‘revenge’ thing...

“Fine,” I sighed, “I’ll do it, but you owe me one okay? When is it?” Sasha clapped and jumped up and down before digging a piece of paper out of her pocket and handing it to me. In messy writing, it told me to meet ‘Mina Carolina’ at Sina at eight o’clock, a good restaurant for a first date, followed by a phone number.

“She better be cute,” I threatened as I stuffed the sheet into my own pocket. I paused for a second, my hand still half way beneath the denim fabric. “Can I ask you something, actually?”

“Sure, I guess, what is it?”I chewed my lip as I tried to think of a way to word my thoughts. If I didn’t get this right, I was positive that Sasha would get the wrong idea and flip out.

“Why were you so convinced that there was something going on between me and Marco?” A broad, toothy grin slowly spread over Sasha’s face, followed by a light slap of my arm.

“Because, Jean, he’s the only customer that you ever smile for.”

* * *

I sat alone at the table waiting for my date. I had been sure to get there at least five minutes early so that Mina wouldn’t have to wait around for me, and thank god that I did, because she was right on time.

I’d told her via text message that the table was booked under ‘Kirschtein,’ and when she arrived, all I could think was kudos to Sasha – at least Mina was cute. Her eyes were a dark coal grey; almost the same colour as her black hair that was tied into two loose pigtails. She had a small nose and thin eyebrows, and she was wearing a cute nervous smile as she totted over to me in her sunflower-yellow dress.

“H-hey,” I started, standing up to pull out her chair for her, “you look very nice this evening.”

“Thank you, so do you.” I felt awkward already and we probably hadn’t even been there ten seconds yet. What do you say on a first date? What topic of conversation was I supposed to bring up? The air felt heavy and dense, like a thick cloud was sat over us. I had no idea what I was doing.

“So...” I tried my hand at starting a conversation, “What kind of music do you like?”

“Oh! Well...” Was I being too forward? Shitttttt. “I like a mix of things, really. I like Taylor Swift a lot, what about yourself?” Hm. Well, maybe music wasn’t everything...

“Oh you know, Fleetwood Mac, Mayday Parade, Mallory Knox, that kind of thing.” She nodded slowly, probably having never heard of any of the bands I just listed. “They’re good; you should check them out or something.” I ordered a bottle of wine and we both started to look at the menus. I’d never been good at first dates, especially when I didn’t particularly want to be there. I started to tick off all the ways the date could go wrong in my head. She could bring up a bad topic. Maybe she would get too physical. What if I drank too much? I was known for that one. What if I accidentally made her feel uncomfortable? What if one of our phones started-

The muffled opening riff of Mr. Brightside started playing from my pocket and I groaned.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I pulled it out to look at the screen.

“It’s uh, no that’s fine.” No it wasn’t, and I blooming well knew that. The screen lit up as I pressed the home button to show:

**Incoming call: Marco Polo**

I slid my thumb over the screen to decline the call. What did he want? I’d told him that I was going on a date tonight, I thought he’d know better than to ring me. I put my phone on vibrate and put it back in my pocket.

“Sorry about that, won’t happen again.” I tried to flash a smile at Mina, and she returned a very unimpressed one. Welp, fuck.

“So what sort of thing do you do for a living, Jean?” Damn it. The dreaded question had already come up. I always hated this part most because I had to tell the girl, essentially, that I was a failure. I braced myself.

“Well... I write songs and sell them off to record dealers to give to their artists.” Mina looked mildly impressed. Sorry hun, not as good as it sounds. “It’s a good job when you have a good song, because it often pays pretty well. It’s just really hard to come up with a something good enough, so I’m kind of at a dead end right now. I uh, I work at Starbucks on the side though.” And the impressed face was nowhere to be seen. “What about you?” Go on, go ahead, upstage me. She could work at a strip club for all I cared, it would probably still be better than mine.

“I’m a microbiologist,” Oh. “I’m in the lab most days, it pays well and I love it most of the time because it’s all so fascinating, but... the most exciting thing I get to work with most of the time is yeast.” We both laughed – that was good. We were getting somewhere. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket again, but I decided to ignore it.

“Do you want to order, then?”

“Sure, I’d love to,” so I ordered the steak and she the sea bass.

I found out over the course of us waiting for our food that her hobbies included ballet, painting and poetry, that her favourite place was a river that her dad used to take her to, and that she knew Sasha from high school. We were hitting things off pretty well, actually, until my phone buzzed a third time and I was ready to punch Marco in the face.

“Sorry, will you excuse me a minute? I need to use the bathroom.” Instead of walking to the bathroom, however, I took a left and headed outside hoping that Mina wasn’t paying attention to where the bathroom was.

Once I was stood out the back of the restaurant, I took my phone out of my pocket again to look at my notifications.

**Three missed calls: Marco Polo  
Four unread messages: Marco Polo**

Okay, maybe I should have picked up earlier. Admittedly, I began to panic a little. Why was he so desperate to contact me? Boy oh boy, was I a dick. I should have picked up earlier, he knew I was on a date, he wouldn’t have rung me unless he really had to... right? What if the apartment was on fire? Marco could’ve been trapped in a burning building and I wouldn’t have known. I was a shit friend. I decided to start by opening the text messages.

**From: Marco Polo**

**Hey.... So, did you say you were taking that girl out to Sina tonight?**

Wait... what?

**From: Marco Polo**

**You know, just wondering.**

**From: Marco Polo**

**Also... Do you also happen to remember that deal we made a week or so ago?**

**From: Marco Polo**

**Please leave. I don’t want it to happen like this.**

...What? Was it just me, or... did these texts not make any sense? Like, at all. I read the messages over a few more times, and the first two more or less made sense. But the last two? Yeah, no. I wasn’t catching on here. What deal did we have that had anything to do with my date with Mina? And what the fuck was the last one? “Please leave”? Leave where? The restaurant? _Why?_ God damn it Marco, I was almost certain that he was high or something. You know, if a guy like Marco was even _capable_ of getting high. Then again, his spelling and grammar and shit were still perfect as always, so definitely not high. I tapped out a quick reply that more or less explained how much I understood.

**To: Marco Polo**

**What the fuck dude?**

I waited outside for a minute or two with the smart-phone in my hand awaiting some form of reply. It was beginning to get cold now, what with it finally being early autumn and rather late. The sky was a dark blue, decorated with stars pattered all over. I couldn’t see the moon from where I was stood, but I almost preferred it that way. The moon was beautiful, but... The stars were the bit I really loved.

I used to love them because they reminded me of her freckles. I winced a little at the thought, but I didn’t really care anymore. I was done with her. Or at least, I had convinced myself for now that I was. The harsh air bit at my nose and my cheeks and the tips of my fingers hovering around the casing of my phone, and as a result I pulled the sleeves of my shirt down over my hands. I hopped on the spot a few times, until I remembered that Mina thought I had gone to the bathroom and that peeing probably didn’t take this long, so I tried calling him instead.

After the fifth ring, an automated woman told me to leave my message after the tone – It seemed he hadn’t even made his own voicemail message yet.

“Hey Marco, It’s Jean, I got your texts and...” And what? And are you dead? And what the fuck do they mean? And are you dead? And why do you care about my date? And _are you dead?_ And why did you ask me to leave? And **_are you freaking dead?_** “And I don’t really understand how they relate to each other. So, I guess I’m asking you to ring me back or something. ‘Kay thanks. Bye.”

I was freezing my ass off by this point, not to mention Mina was probably starting to wonder if I’d actually used the bathroom to flush myself to the Ministry of Magic or something, so I opened the back door to sneak back through the restaurant to my table.

The first thing that I noticed upon re-entering the building (besides beautiful warmth that I’d apparently missed) was the melodic sound of piano caressing my eardrums. I was fairly sure that it hadn’t been playing before, so it must have started when I was outside. I’d always had a soft spot for piano music, if I’m honest with you. It always made me feel kinda... I don’t know... _cushy._ I figured that it might make the date go better, seeing as I was doing absolutely anything to try to recover the horrific start that I’d had to the evening.

As I walked through the archway to where my table was, I saw the piano in the corner of the room. I thought I recognised the piece of music that was playing but I couldn’t quite place it for the life of me. I could hear the lyrics in my head, but nevertheless I couldn’t recall the title.

_Tears flowing down my cheek / tearing me up as I think / of what could have been._

I stopped in my tracks when I realised who the man was behind the piano.

His hair was brown and neatly parted at the top of his head which I could easily see due to him sitting down. The back of his lightly tanned neck was coated in a thick layer of freckles, a trail of them leading to underneath the hem of his white shirt, which was beneath a black tux jacket. The text messages made sense now. The deal – he was referring to the _piano_ deal. Although in my opinion he was still a bit melodramatic towards the end. I thought he was _dying_.

I walked closer to him instead of back towards my date. Let’s be frank, I’d screwed up with her anyway. As I approached, I got a closer look at how his fingers danced over the keys and how his shoulders rose and fell with the movement of his hands. I watched his foot tap at the right pedal in rhythm to the melody and how his head swayed and nodded along. I looked at him as he became one with the music, his entire body clearly filled with the emotion of the piece he was playing, flowing through his veins and through his fingertips to be heard through the sound of the piano.

I stepped closer to his side and made eye contact with him in the reflection of the glossy black paint. I smiled, and he returned one (albeit awkward,) before he slipped up and hit the wrong key. He winced, but I flung a hand at him as if to say “keep going”, or at least, I hoped that was what it said.

He continued to play and I stared at his hands. The way his slender fingers elegantly skimmed over the keys before moving across to the next was amazing. I’d seen people play piano before, but never with such intense emotion like Marco had. It was really incredible. The white keys, the black keys, two at a time. He made it look easy, but I sure as hell knew it wasn’t.

I used to play piano when I was about eight years old, but I never got along with it. That was when I moved on to guitar, and I’d been playing it ever since.

The piece of music ended and there was a low applause from a few of the tables nearby which caused Marco to beam. It was kinda cute, the dork.

“You did take her out to Sina, then?” How rude.

“You didn’t check your phone, then?” With that he pulled his eyebrows together and pulled a mobile phone out of his back pocket, tapping at the screen to enter his password and open our text conversation.

“Oh. Sorry.” He slid it back into his pocket.

“I didn’t know you played piano here,” I told him and he shrugged.

“I only started recently, maybe a week or so ago. I do this every other night. Just gets in a bit of money, and I mean, I love doing it anyway.” He flashed a smile at me. Why was my stomach floating? I would have assumed there was something funky in the food, except that I hadn’t eaten anything yet. Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe I’d caught a cold from standing outside? Nah. Colds didn’t make your stomach go weird. I tried to ignore it.

“You’re really good, by the way, and I think this was a great way for it to happen. Me hearing for the first time, that is.” I winked and he chuckled. Seriously – what was up with my stomach? I excused myself to go to the toilet, and I actually went this time as Marco began to play a new piece.

I stood alone in the empty bathroom examining my face in the mirror. My nose and cheeks were slightly pink, so... maybe it was a cold? But my face felt really hot. What was wrong with my body? Had I just randomly caught some weird-ass illness out of nowhere? I continued to stare at my face in the mirror for a good few minutes, examining my cheeks and swatting at my stomach, trying to stop it from feeling all weird and fluttery. I’d never had this before, that was for sure.

After contemplating whether or not it was worth risking showing myself to Mina again, I decided I should probably do it. I balled my fists at my sides and braced myself for a shit storm before exiting the bathroom and finally returning to my dinner date.

I strolled over to the table and saw that on it were two plates of untouched food, and Mina was not sat behind it. That was a problem. When I reached the abandoned table, I found a note tucked underneath the half-empty bottle of wine. In curly handwriting, it said

_**Maybe next time you should invite your piano boyfriend on a date, seeing as you spent most of this one with him anyway.** _   
_**I thought we were hitting it off, but apparently not. Don’t try to contact me.** _

I chewed at my index-finger nail as I read it. This was... this was an issue. On the other hand, there was a plate of steak right in front of me, and I was still hungry. So I sat down to tuck in. I was paying for this, after all.

I noticed that the piano had stopped, and been replaced by a man playing violin, meaning that Marco had most likely packed up and gone home for the night. Violin wasn’t really my forte; it kind of hurt my ears, actually. In my personal opinion it was just a screeching noise repeated in different pitches, but whatever. I ate as fast as I could, paid the bill for the food and exited the restaurant to sit in my car.

For a good ten minutes, I just sat there alone in my Volvo. The weird feeling in my stomach had died down over the course of my meal, thank God. I’d gotten a few weird looks from the people sat near me. Some of them looked pretty disgusted – they must have been the ones that had witnessed the entire date, and knew that I had been a dick. In my defence, I didn’t _want_ to be there. And I loved piano. Then again, it was still really rude of me.

Some people, on the other hand, looked really sympathetic, and they must have thought that I had been stood up on a date, sat there eating alone like that. Well, that was a thing, I guess.

I plugged my iPod into the stereo and put it on shuffle, which was something I hadn’t done in a while. The first song that came on was welcome to the black parade by My Chemical Romance. Nope, nope nope. I wasn’t having any of that, so I tapped the ‘next’ button and the introductory screech of plug in baby by Muse began to blare through the speakers.

“Shit!” I yelled as my heart burst through my chest from the jump scare. Or at least, it felt like it did. I scrambled to turn the volume down as fast as my flailing limbs could manage before sitting back in my seat again.

All in all, the night had been a bit of a disaster, what with me ditching my date to listen to Marco play piano, combined with my upset stomach and likely catching a cold.

As soon as my Volvo pulled out from the restaurant car park, rain began to tip down the windows, rolling in groups and colliding into one another on the glass panes. I half-watched the road and half-watched the water collecting in dips in the concrete or creating a stream by the edge of the sidewalk only to roll down the hill and into a drain. The sky had slowly become a cloudy gray, no longer a single patch of blue even peeking out from behind.

This was the first bit of rain that Trost had seen in at least a month - usually this would make me weirdly happy. But tonight I didn’t want rain. I didn’t want particular weather, I didn’t want to have a meal with Mina, I didn’t want to sit in my car and listen to Muse by myself (which usually I would gladly do). Tonight, I just wanted to listen to him play. I craved to stand beside Marco again and watch his fingers caress the black and white keys to create a melody. I _craved_ listening to him play the piano. That was all I wanted.

I pulled up outside the apartment block, unplugged my iPod and shoved it in my back pocket before taking the stairs to mine and Marco’s apartment. I wondered if he had a piano in his room or something that he wasn’t telling me about. I’d lived there for... what, a week and a half? Maybe two? But I didn’t think I’d ever been in his room. Then again, if he really did love playing like he said then I would have heard it by now, right?

I tried to open the apartment door only to find that it was locked, so instead I dug into the pocket of my blazer to dig out my keys and unlock the door. I knew that Marco was home, I could hear the TV on inside, which was currently accompanied by some sort of rustling. I absent-mindedly swung the door open and stepped inside.

“Hey Marco, I thought you’d be staying at the restaurant for-”

I froze.

He froze.

“You’re uh... You’re not wearing a lot of clothes, there.” Neither of us moved; Marco still stood on one foot trying to squish the raised one into a trouser leg. Eye contact was beginning to get awkward, so I looked down at my feet and rubbed the back of my neck. By the time I looked up again, Marco had successfully managed to put on a pair of jeans and was beet red in the face. He was still shirtless, however, and my stomach was playing up again. I made a mental note to check the reviews of that restaurant in a bit.

“Don’t pretend you don’t do it too,” he said, looking anywhere but at me. The floor, his hands, the ceiling, anywhere. I watched as his eyes darted around the room.

“Everyone wanks man, this isn’t a big dea-”

“No!” He interrupted, flinging both of his arms out into the space between us with wide eyes and a rapidly-getting-redder face. “I meant- I meant just sitting in your underwear when you’re home alone.”

Well then.

So it seemed that I’d just accused my flatmate-and-good-friend of jacking off when home alone. I felt my face grow hot. And I mean really hot. Like, hotter than Marco hot. Uh – face-wise, I mean. L-like, face temperatures.

“Oh! Y-yeah, of course,” I said, followed by a brief cough in a feeble attempt at breaking the tension that had built up over the space of about twenty seconds. “So I’m just gonna uh... go in there...” I added, elongating the end of the last word and pointing to my bedroom door as I turned my body in that general direction.

“Wait – Jean?” Marco called after me, and I spun on my heels immediately, my eyes perking up to meet his, away from the door.

“Yeah?”

“This isn’t... _weird_ to you, is it?” He gestured to his body with both hands, giving himself a general sweep down of his figure. It was weird. Why? _Why_ was it suddenly so weird? We’d been shirtless plenty of times, why was it _suddenly_ weird for me?

“No? What do you mean? Why would I find it weird?” My sentences came out a lot faster than I had meant for them to, and my voice sounded panicky. I didn’t want to sound panicky right now, Marco probably thought I was freaking out or some shit from seeing muscles. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me?

“Okay,” he said slowly, eyebrows furrowed in concern before adding “are you sure? You’re acting... you’re not yourself.” Well, I could confirm that much.

“I’m fine. I’m just... yeah.” I gestured back towards my bedroom and Marco nodded at me before I went on my way.

As soon as I closed my door, I slid down its white frame to curl up in a ball and was quickly joined by a dribbling Fleetwood. I couldn’t work out what was wrong with me tonight. I traced back over the evening’s events to try to put my finger on it. It started when I heard the piano, right? My stomach felt invisible, like I was made of air – that could have been anything.

By the time I was in my car, it had died down again, but when I arrived in the apartment it became very apparent once more, but on a more intense scale.

Okay, Jean, what did those two times have in common?

The first thing I came up with was the fact that I was with Marco during both situations, but how that would have an effect on my physical wellbeing, I didn’t know. I was... I was indoors during both encounters with “the flutters” as they shall be known. Could that have been it...?

Wait.

No.

Bingo.

I’d just been outside – it must have been because it was cold out tonight, I was just reacting to it because it had been so warm for so long, right? There was absolutely no other reason it could have been. I always knew it, really.

Once I was finally satisfied with my conclusion, I petted Fleetwood for a minute of two as he drooled on my lap (which was disgusting, by the way,) before calling it a night. I had a long ol’ week ahead of me until this eighties club... _thing,_ and I was definitely looking forward to it more than I was willing to ever admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh jeezy wheezy I'm so sorry that this took so long to write, and it's not even a particularly long chapter gah!  
> It's difficult trying to find the time to write as much now that school's back on and GCSEs and stuf flike that, but I promise you I'm still writing this and loving it especially now that, hey, what's this that Jean's feeling...? ;)  
> The next chapter, as you probably gathered, will include the 80's themed night and such, so there's something to look forward to I suppose.  
> I'm happy with how this chapter came out all in all, I hope you're all satisfied too!  
> I'll be back soon enough with chapter 9 so do not fret, please do continue to leave comment and kudos and such because, like I say with every chapter, I really love it more than anything else.  
> I love you all and thank you again for the support that you're giving this fic! :D
> 
> "Because, Jean, he's the only customer that you ever smile for."


	9. Blame the Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was born with a special gift that is both a blessing and a curse, and this is that I can consume a very large amount of alcohol and not get very drunk at all."

It was Friday afternoon, and it’s fair to say that I was freaking out. We were going to the eighties club tomorrow – _tomorrow –_ and I still hadn’t bought my costume yet. Procrastination at its best, I know, try not to get too jealous.

Everyone had agreed to dress as a person from the eighties – like, an actual famous person. We stuck a load of names in a hat and pulled them out, hoping to God that it was the right gender. I ended up with Adam Ant, which I supposed was alright, except that I didn’t listen to Adam and the Ants at all and I was struggling like hell to make a costume by _tomorrow_.

Did I mention it was for **_tomorrow?_**

I’d searched his name into Google images over and over, only to find that he had, in all honesty, a pretty shit fashion sense. Unfortunately, I’d drawn the short straw and had to dress like him all night. Marco had pulled out Bono – fucking _Bono._ All he had to do was wear a suit and that weird pair of sunglasses that he has on in every single picture ever of him, and he was done. He got it easy. Me? Jesus. Search him, seriously, where the fuck was I meant to find one of those golden jacket things?

I panicked. I finally got off my lazy ass and ran to Marco’s room, stubbing my toe on the doorframe and swearing profusely on the way. I rapidly hit my knuckles against his bedroom door, over and over and over, not even to a rhythm; just a frantic, harsh slapping noise.

“Marcoooooo!” I cried, moaning his name like a whiny child. “Marcooo, help me out!” In one fast motion, the door flew open and I nearly punched Marco by accident because I didn’t have any warning to stop knocking. So you know, I nearly knocked his face instead.

“Whaddya want?” He asked, and oh my God was that a sight. I had to choke back my laughter and bite my index finger as I eyed him up and down. Wow. Boy oh boy, was this great. “Oh shut up Jean, I was just seeing if it fitted.” And so he was, stood holding the side of his door in the full Bono get-up. Sunglasses and everything. I threw my hands up defensively.

“I didn’t say a word,” and he smiled at me, but the sort of smile that says ‘fuck you’. You know the one.

“This is ridiculous, I don’t get why Reiner made us do this.”

“Oh that’s right, it’s _Reiner’s_ fault. Whose idea was it to go to this thing again?” He slapped my bicep in response.

“Shut up! I didn’t realise we’d have to dress up, okay?!” I grinned toothily and kicked him lightly in the shin.

“Anyway, I sorta need help...” He stared at me, waiting for me to go on. I was three hundred percent sure that he’d kill me for this, seeing as he’d been going on about it all week, nagging me about ‘Jean, have you got this yet?’ and ‘Jean, have you done that yet?’ I braced myself, taking in a long gulp of air before telling him, “I haven’t got my costume yet.”

For a moment, Marco stared at me blankly, trying to take in the information that I’d just given him.

“You dumb shit! I _told_ you this would happen!” I didn’t know what I had expected him to say, but Marco swearing didn’t happen very often, and when it did, it was usually a warning for you to run and hide. I slowly raised my hands up to my chest, exposing my palms and keeping my eyes locked on his angry narrowing ones.

“Well, anyway, seeing as I couldn’t find anything...” I took a leaf out of Sasha’s book, tipping my head towards the floor and twiddling my fingers accompanied by fast speaking. “I was wondering if you’d be an amazing friend and try and find me something? Because I have work tomorrow and by the time I get back I might have to start getting ready anyway and-”

“What do you need?” I looked up from my hands and watched as Marco pulled his own away from his face, letting out a long, dramatised sigh as he did so. Well, that was easier than I expected.

I gave him the basic run-through of my costume, and when we both decided that it would be physically impossible to find it by tomorrow, we gave up.

“So what do we do, then?” I asked, jumping onto the sofa and flinging my legs over the back of it, my head dangling below the cushions. Marco perched on the table opposite me, and I stared at his now-upside-down face as he took his phone from his pocket.

“Well first, I text Reiner and let him know that he owes me five dollars.” Not going to lie, I took a bit of offence in that.

“I mean what do _I_ do?” I continued, ignoring his statement. “I have nothing to wear tomorrow.” Marco looked down at me just as a gush of air flew through the open balcony door, and I felt my hair swipe across the carpet.

“Now, we get creative.”

So we hit the shops, and eventually (after a lot of swearing and general angst from me,) I had an outfit – if you could even call it that. It really was dreadful. Extremely dreadful.

Once back in the apartment, of course the first thing that Marco forced me to do was wear the whole outfit together to see how it looked. He waited in the living room as I went into my bedroom, and as I emptied the carrier bag out onto my bed, I wondered what the fuck I’d done to myself.

First, I put on the blue chinos. They weren’t actually that bad at all, I honestly planned to wear them on other occasions because let’s face it, I was rocking them. Second was the short sleeved, bright yellow, v-necked t-shirt. To put it lightly, it was rather a traumatic experience just looking at it – it literally burned my eyes – let alone putting the damn thing on _especially_ with the chinos. Blue with yellow is a no-go, but according to Marco it was “very eighties”, and I trusted him.

Last but not least, my trusty leather jacket. It was one of those black short sleeved ones and I loved it. It was quite possibly my favourite item of clothing – not including my many band shirts – and again, Marco had told me that it would look “very eighties” when combined with the shirt and chinos. I didn’t gel up my hair simply because I couldn’t be bothered for just trying it on, so I strolled back out to the living room in the most cocky model walk I could manage.

Marco laughed and beamed at me, giving me the full thumbs up as I posed as though I’d just reached the end of the catwalk.

I couldn’t help but laugh back. His smile made me float.

* * *

One of the bonuses within my group of friends was that I never had to worry about being able to find them, because there were often a few ways to go about it.

  1.       Bertholdt was taller than everyone else combined, so you could easily spot him from a mile away.
  2.       Reiner’s fashion sense was horrific, costume night or not. He sure as hell stood out.
  3.       Connie and Sasha were the hyperactive, monkey-type people that were always running around and quite frankly causing havoc.
  4.       There was a fair possibility that Christa and Ymir were making out in the corner.



All four of these were apparent when Marco and I pulled up outside the club.

“Yo! There you are, took your time!” Reiner greeted us with a harsh slap on my back and a flirtatious wink at Marco, which caused him to flush scarlet and my insides to tense.

“Are we going inside, then?” I asked through gritted teeth, causing another palm to the shoulder blade form Reiner.

“Try to relax a little, bud. Your outfit isn’t the worst in the world.” He was right, because his was. He was dressed as Freddie Mercury from Queen, and it was a pretty good costume, but it looked hilarious on a guy like Reiner. He even had a black wig and fake moustache to complete the look. Stood next to him was Bertholdt, who unsurprisingly was just wearing skinny jeans and a guns and roses t-shirt. Bert wasn’t really one for playing dress up, I suppose.

Sasha, on the other hand, was a completely different story.

“Heyyy, it’s Jeanny-boy!” She cried, flinging her arms around my neck and giving me a tight hug.

“Hey, Sash,” I replied awkwardly, “your necklace is caught on my jacket.” Once untangled, I got a look at Sasha’s complete costume, and it was hella rad. She wore a bright yellow tank top that kind of matched my own, although hers was tucked into a just-as-bright pink tutu. Her hair was tied into two messy pigtails with pink ribbon and she wore a rainbow-beaded necklace to match her rainbow legwarmers. There were at least ten multicoloured plastic bangles on each of her wrists, and for shoes she had ridiculously high platform boots of a bright blue colour.

“You really went all out on this, huh?” I asked, and she nodded fast with pride. Connie stood behind her, and he really hadn’t tried at all. Like, even less than Bert, which was surprising for Connie. “Where’s your costume, then?” He looked up from where he was staring at the paving to me.

“I have one, I just... I’m not confident enough to wear it yet. I’m waiting until I get drunk.” Sasha giggled and Connie hit her cheek lightly, whereas Marco and I just nodded along slowly. I didn’t want to know, frankly, and I didn’t think he particularly did either.

Ymir and Christa, who were still making out like there was no tomorrow, were dressed as Michael Jackson and Kylie respectively. They were actually really good costumes, and despite myself... Ymir looked really hot in a suit. (Tell anyone I said that and I swear I’ll kill you). I looked around for Mikasa and Annie, but I couldn’t see them anywhere.

“Where are the other two?” I asked to no one in particular.

“Oh, Annie’s dad’s back in town so she went to see him last minute, and I don’t really know about Mikasa, she just sort of bailed.” Sasha replied. “I guess it really is a quadruple date after all, huh?” She winked at me, and thank God, Marco started talking before I had the chance to strangle her.

“Are we going inside then? Or-” He started before being rudely interrupted by some random girl and her friends from across the street.

“Fags!” She yelled in Ymir and Christa’s general direction, cupping her hands over her mouth as she did so. I felt myself fuming, physically _fuming_ at the word.

“You wanna say that again?” Reiner called back, not to my surprise really, as he swung an arm over Bertholdt’s shoulders triggering a disgusted look from the group of teenagers.

“Fags! Fags! Fags!” They began to chant.

“Reiner, don’t work them up, just let them g-”

“No! We need to prove our point.” Bertholdt was always one for trying to ignore comments so that the bullies would give up on you, but Reiner always counteracted that with the stick-our-ground way of life.

“What’s your problem?” I cried, and one of the girls sneered at me as I felt a strong arm snake around my waist and come to rest on my left hip bone. My entire body tensed up with the lack of space between us. I could feel his breath unnervingly close to my cheek, his head right above my shoulder. He stood next to me, but partially behind me, and he was too close, too close, too close.

“Yeah! You got a problem with gays?” Marco joined; looping his other arm underneath mine to join his hands in front of me, now stood behind. What was he doing? My lungs felt smaller the closer he stood. I couldn’t breathe. My stomach was knotted and my heart was beating ridiculously fast. I could hear it. Thud, thud, thud.

I heard the shouting going on around me as the argument became more heated, strangers joining in on our defence for Ymir and Christa, but I wasn’t participating. I was too busy trying to steady my breathing, despite my lungs not working. I was too busy trying to slow my heart rate, despite the frantic pulse. I was too busy trying to convince myself that it wasn’t caused by Marco, despite the fact that I knew it almost definitely was.

He laced his limbs out of mine when the group of teens had eventually moved on, apparently successful on our behalf – or at least I assumed so from the cheering. He had only been standing close to me for what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but I already felt empty without the warmth of his chest close to my back.

“You okay, Jean?” He asked me, having turned me around to face him. “You look like a rabbit caught in the headlights.” ...Did I? I shrugged it off as my pulse finally began to slow. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I was just trying to prove a point.” He glanced over the road again to where the group had been standing. So... why couldn’t I breathe?

“It’s fine,” I told him with the flicker of a smile, and we followed Reiner’s beckoning hand to the entrance of the club, the sun setting fast above our heads.

The club itself was already fairly packed with people in costume – it was 9:30. Whilst the chorus of ‘Kids in America’ began to blare, I had a look around from the doorway. The walls were lined with fluorescent lights that matched the colour changing dance tiles on the floor and against the far wall was a fairly large raised platform, on which was a DJ desk and a man in bright clothing. To the right of the room was a bar lined with stools, a few tables in the area near it, one of which had already been grabbed by Reiner. Around the bar was a short corridor that I assumed lead to some bathrooms, and finally on the left of the dance floor were some settees and tables on a slightly dipped floor with a few steps leading down to them.

I joined Reiner at the table, closely trailed by Marco and the others. Reiner, Connie, Ymir and I took the four seats and the others walked off to find some stray ones to bring over.

“I’ll go get some drinks, is there a tab?” Asked Connie, to which Reiner nodded.

“It’s under the name Braun.” And Connie shimmied his way off through the crowd of people towards the bar, disappearing very quickly.

“I plan to get very, very drunk, and you might have to drag me out of here by my shirt collar,” Ymir announced when we were rejoined by the stragglers of the group, all of us present excluding Connie.

“Me too,” I admitted, raising my hand, and then copied by almost everyone else. “Wait, we are hiring a cab, right?” Christa laughed.

“Yeah, but I don’t drink anyway, so if anything goes catastrophically wrong I can give lifts.” I nodded and looked over to the bar to see how Connie was doing, and I saw his little bald head bobbing its way through people, arms totally full of glasses. He looked like he was about to drop all of them.

Once he was at the table, he practically threw the multiple glasses onto the surface.

“How did you carry all of that?” I asked, and he shrugged.

“Magic!” He shook his hands in a jazzy-style with his eyes wide. There were at least ten cups of beer on the table served in plastic red cups, and we each took our own.

“I propose a toast!” Reiner declared, “To the four couples here tonight!” I saw Marco visibly stiffen beside me. Had they been giving him a hard time, too? It was one thing for them to tease me - I’d been friends with them for years - but Marco? They barely knew the guy, really. And we weren’t dating, anyway. Although, I imagined that he wouldn’t be a half-bad boyfriend.

In my head, I felt his hand on my waist again; his fingertips warm through the fabric of my thin shirt. I felt his hair against the side of my head; the brown strands stroking my face. I felt the suffocating feeling in my chest from being so close to him and I found myself thinking that, hey, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad if it happened all the time.

Wait. No. That’s gay.

We tapped the rims of our cups together and drank, Marco and I both ignoring the accusation of us being a couple. Just then, the song changed and Marco clapped his hands together.

“Someone come dance with me? I love this song, my dad used to play it to death!” Reiner, Bert, Connie and Sasha were already up and dancing, and seeing as Ymir and Christa were getting intimate again, I supposed that left just me. We walked to the middle of the floor – the fucking _middle –_ and Marco began to dance. I didn’t recognise the tune at all, but then, I hadn’t ever had a particular obsession over that style of music.

_“Naughty boys in nasty schools / headmasters breaking all the rules / having fun and playing fools / smashing up the woodwork tools.”_

Whenever I heard a new song, I took a mental note of its rhythm and patterns so that I could reference them in my own.

“Come on, Jean! Dance!” Marco took both of my hands in his own and started twisting on the spot from side to side. In all honesty, it was pretty cute. I felt a smile creeping onto my face, and when he laughed it became a full blown grin, a laugh escaping my own lips too. I started dancing like he was, imitating his dance moves, and when I nearly fell over I gave up.

“I can’t dance! I don’t even know why I’m here!” He shook his head disapprovingly at me.

“That just means you haven’t drunk enough yet.” And we both took a long swig of our drinks, in my case finishing it off.

A few drinks and a few songs later and having been joined by the rest of the group, it was fair to say that we were all a little tipsy, and all a little giggly, and all very bad at dancing. Sasha had already taken off her heels because she “wasn’t used to them” and they were “literal murder” on her ankles. Connie, however, still wore his shirt and jeans, seemingly a little hesitant as to whether he was ready or not to get changed yet.

Queen stopped playing, and there was a very short break between songs as we all laughed out our last moves before Ymir rounded us up back at our table.

“We’re playing a drinking game,” she said, indicating at the many drinks on the table with her hands. “Because none of you are anywhere near drunk enough.”

“What are we playing?” Sasha asked as she folded her arms, clearly accepting the challenge. Ymir smirked.

“Beer pong, my personal favourite.” Reiner grinned at the news and Bertholdt, Connie and Marco simultaneously groaned.

“Two teams!” Ymir continued, “Sasha, Reiner, Jean and Christa against us four. I know you don’t drink babe, but you might as well get involved anyway. Everyone know the rules?” Marco shook his head, and Ymir sighed. “Okay, so we lay out the cups like this...” She proceeded to rearrange the cups into two large triangles on either end of the table, each made of ten cups, “and then we take it in turns to throw a ping pong ball into a cup. If it goes in, someone from the opposite team drinks it. Clear?”

“Clear,” we responded together.

“Good. I’m going first.” Ymir took her place at one end of the table, and took a long time aiming.

“Are you gonna throw it or not?” I asked, and she sneered at me.

“Look here Kirschtein. I’ve already drunk more than probably all of you combined, so cut me some slack.” I didn’t deny that she was telling the truth, in fairness. It was very likely of Ymir. Eventually, she threw the ping pong ball, and when it completely missed I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey, Ymir, where did you get the ping pong balls?” Asked Marco, who was stood very close to me again. I didn’t know if it was the lack of space between us or the general amount of people in the room, but my breathing was short and shaky. Ymir shrugged.

“Nicked them from the arcade room,” Marco’s eyes went wide.

“You’re not supposed to do that! What if there’s a kid trying to play table tennis right now, but there are no balls there?” I squinted at him.

“Marco, why the fuck would a little kid be in an 80’s themed club?” He opened his mouth to argue back, but when he found he had nothing to say, he closed it again and frowned. When he stuck his tongue out at me instead, I smiled like a fucking dork. Jeez, seemed like I’d already had a bit too much to drink.

I took my place on my team’s end of the table, taking the ping pong ball from Ymir and aiming at the front most cup in the triangle opposite me. Being a little tipsy, I swayed ever so slightly from side to side as though there was a light breeze in the room. When the ball landed firmly in the red plastic cylinder, my team cheered at me and I gave a playful wink to a non-satisfied Ymir.

“Go on, Marco. Chug it.”

“What? Why me?” His face sunk at the order and his shoulders slouched forwards, making me notice how good his posture usually was. I shrugged.

“Because why not?” Marco sighed audibly before removing the ball from the cup and begrudgingly taking a sip.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Sasha asked, and in response Connie tipped the bottom of the cup mid-drink so that Marco instead was forced to down the entire cup in one go, followed by more cheering.

It didn’t take that long for us to finish the game and start another, and it was an extraordinarily drunk Reiner that was trying to aim a ping pong ball into the last cup of our second game. I couldn’t remember feeling this happy, this light, for a long time. The music was blaring and my head was utterly clear of any thoughts that might bring me down, and in that moment, I was well and truly happy.

Reiner missed the cup and it became Sasha’s turn, who, along with Connie, had been taking shots between turns so was exceedingly more drunk than even Ymir – and that was saying something.

She aimed, she missed. My turn. I aimed, I missed. Christa’s turn. She aimed, she-

The group exploded into a fit of cheers after finally _– finally –_ getting the ball in the final cup of beer.

“Bert! Drink up!” She cried, to which the now-pretty-darn-drunk Bertholdt willingly drank.

“Celebratory shots!” The monkey pair chimed in unison, to which we clinked the tiny glasses together and drank. We all shared a look when the song changed, and each of the couples grabbed their respective partners and dragged them to the dance floor, once again, leaving me and Marco. But I wasn’t complaining, I was having a blast, and dancing with your best friend is fine, right?

Marco ran to the middle of the room and I staggered after him, more drunk than I was willing to admit.

“Dance with me, Jean!” He exclaimed, taking my hands in his own and spinning in circles like we were children on a school playground. So he was a happy drunk.

That was when he began to sing along.

“Take on me! Take me on! I’ll be gone! In a daaaaaayyyyyyyy!” Now, I don’t know if this was the alcohol talking, but fuck. He had the voice of a fucking angel.

My insides were gone. Well, it sure felt that way; why else would my stomach feel so utterly, so irrevocably _empty?_ It was a serenade to my ears, more like music than even the booming track bellowing from the speakers. Even though it was mostly a drunken slur, his voice was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard in my twenty one years of living. Fuckity fuck fuck.

“Marco. Hey, hey Marco,” I stammered, my words stuttering and breaking as though they were falling from my lips. “I didn’t- I didn’t know you could sing good.” He stared at me blankly for a moment or two and I was about to repeat myself, under the impression that he didn’t understand what I’d said, when his eyebrows began to tug together above the bridge of his nose.

“I... I didn’t know I could, really,” he said, puzzled by the information I’d given him. I nodded frantically and flung one floppy arm over his shoulder, leaning in and nuzzling against his neck. _You sing good, Marco. You sing good._

“Like an aaaaaangel,” I told him. He smelt nice, too. Like, really nice. I didn’t know what of, exactly, just of... of Marco. That sweet yet slightly musky smell that was Marco. I liked it. “Sing to me again some time. For properly,” I proposed, unaware of my sentences not making any grammatical sense. “I could play guitar, and you could sing for me.” I closed my eyes, leaning my weight properly onto Marco until I felt him starting to fall, but he picked himself up in time.

“Okay,” he agreed, and I was elated. With my eyes still closed, I rested my chin on Marco’s left shoulder. I kind of wanted to... to kiss... him...

I guided myself back to standing on my own two feet, untangling my arm from Marco as I did so. No. No, that wasn’t what I meant, not kiss him, just...

“Hey, Jean?”

“Yeah?” He looked at me, and he looked like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. Oh god. What had I done? I _knew_ it wasn’t normal for friends to be this clingy. _I_ _knew it I knew it I-_

“I didn’t want to see that,” he concluded, shielding his eyes with one hand and pointing towards the restrooms with the other. I followed his finger with my eyes, skimming across the room until I saw- Oh, _god._

Stood on the other side of the club were two people.

One, my good friend Sasha, in her bright pink tutu and her fluffy pigtails.

And two, my good friend Connie, who I would forever more _not_ know, in a fluorescent pink mankini. And nothing else.

He stood with his hands resting on his hips, and he looked fucking smug. Sasha clung to his bicep – more likely using him as a crutch than as a sign of affection, and then he spotted me, waved, and began to walk towards us.

“Oh, God,” I moaned, grabbing Marco’s wrist and walking away. “I don’t care how drunk we all are, there’s no way I’m being seen with Connie tonight.” He laughed, and his eyes lit up like a thousand candles. My stomach floated again, the same floating that happened when I heard him play piano.

And I knew I wasn’t ill.

 _It’s the alcohol,_ I thought to myself, _ignore it, it’s not what you think, it’s the alcohol._

Desperately trying to lose Connie and simultaneously convince myself that ‘the flutters’ wasn’t what I thought, I raced towards the photo booth, Marco still on my heels.

_The alcohol. It’s the alcohol. Ignore it. See how you feel in the morning. You’ve always been a flirty drunk. It’s the alcohol, Jean. Get it together. He’s your best friend._

I leant over Marco to draw the curtain behind us having finally lost Connie, and I could feel his breath against my cheek, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. He was too close. My chest was tight. _It’s the alcohol._ I was frozen in place.

“Uh, Jean? Are you okay?” He sounded concerned, and fuck, how did he have that much control over himself? He was drunk. Really drunk. I wasn’t okay.

“F-fine!” I stammered, hurriedly taking my place on the bench next to him in the booth. Oh God. I ran my hands through my hair a thousand times over. I wiped my brow. I picked at my cuticles. I was doing anything I could possibly do to calm myself down and none of them were working. Oh God. This couldn’t be happening. I was drunk. I liked _girls._

Marco picked some money out of his pocket and looked at me, waiting for me to say something.

“W-what?”

“Do you want to take some photos? We might as well, since we’re in here and everything.” No, I don’t want to, Marco. I want to get even more drunk than I already am, go home very late, and wake up the next morning with no recollection of this evening or these feelings. I sure as hell do _not_ want photo evidence.

“Yeah, why not?” He began rummaging through the props on the floor, eventually settling for a pair of oversized sunglasses in the shape of two stars with a yellow frame. He then examined the items for a moment longer before picking up a police man’s hat and trying to hand it to me.

“You’d suit this,” he said, shaking the hat in my general direction. I could tell he was having a blast from the dorky grin on his face, and I was too, honestly! But the way my stomach was flipping just looking at him smile like that and I-

“Well go on! Put it on!” I did as he instructed, trying to fix it at a good angle in the small mirror above the camera before us. I span on the spot, trying not to bump into him in the tiny box, then I posed, sticking one hand behind my head and flicking the other out to the side, and Marco nodded frantically. “I knew it! Sexy cop is completely you, Jean!”

Did he just-?

I was so mad at myself. Rephrase: I was so mad at the _alcohol._ It was the alcohol. Besides, Marco wasn’t into me. He wasn’t even into _guys._ And neither was I! Alcohol. Alcohol. Alcohol. Blame the beer. Alcohol.

He slotted the money into the machine and clung onto me, probably to maintain his balance more than anything. He slung one arm over my shoulders, so I did the same to him, ignoring the wad of cotton in my throat.

The camera flashed, and we changed position. This time, Marco puffed out his cheeks and put two fingers up behind my head, giving me bunny ears. I tried to smile even though I knew I probably looked like I was grimacing with pain. I was so confused.

The camera flashed.

“Try to smile for this one, okay?” He told me, prodding at my cheek with his index finger. I was about to protest, when flash! That was our third photo.

“These are going to look like shit,” I told him, and I turned to face him and my heart fluttered again at that little smile and oh God, Jean, stop thinking of him like that. He’s your _best fucking friend._

“Let’s go out with a bang!” Marco exclaimed, and before I knew what was even happening, my face was being held in strong hands, a pair of lips smashed up against my left cheek, slightly wet. My face flushed hot and red, my eyes grew wide, and all I could think was that oh fuck, this better be the alcohol.

* * *

I was born with a special gift that is both a blessing and a curse, and this is that I can consume a very large amount of alcohol and not get very drunk at all.

I groaned as I rolled onto my side, falling off the sofa. Fuck, that hurt like a bitch. My head pounded lightly from the hangover, and as much as I had drunk last night, I still remembered every little detail.

I remembered standing outside the club with Marco’s arms tight around my waist.

I remembered playing beer pong and everyone drinking far too much.

I remembered Connie in the fluorescent mankini, (as much as I wished that I didn’t),

And I remembered my heart’s uncontrollable pulse when my face was in Marco’s hands inside the photo booth.

I heard Marco’s clothes rustle across the room as he squirmed in his sleep and I opened my eyes, taking in my surroundings. I was lying on the living room couch, and Marco was flat on the floor, stretched out underneath the coffee table. I slid my hand underneath the cushion that my head was resting on to find a square of paper, and I pulled it out to see what it was. Of course, they were the pictures from the photo booth last night. I swore to myself to hide them as soon as I got up, and to never _ever_ let Marco see them. No, he couldn’t know how embarrassed I was when he kissed me. I couldn’t face that.

In my peripheral vision, I saw him roll over to face me and he smiled, the dimples in his cheeks strong and full, his eyes droopy from sleep and his hair like a bird’s nest.

I turned to look at him, and as I stared, I could only think one thing.

Fuck. It wasn’t the alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOOOOOOOOOO FINALLYYYYYYYYYY!!!  
> Man this was fun to write, so Jean's officially in homo with Marco. Yaaaaay!  
> I hope you're satisfied now dearies :') sorry that it took 9 chapters for him to admit it.  
> I have a few snazzy things that are going to come in over the next few chapters so get pumped ready for those, and yeah! I think that's it, obviously please keep leaving comments and such because I love to know if you're enjoying the fic, also how many of you are reading along as I upload, out of curiosity?  
> I reply to every comment and updates are regular enough, so I'll see you soon!
> 
> UPDATE:  
> *crawls out from underneath a pile of books*  
> I'M NOT DEAD I SWEAR  
> It's taking me so long to write chapter 10 I'm so sorry, school and life and stuff is taking over a bit, I'm just letting you know that yES I'M STILL HERE I'M TRYING! *sobs*  
> *gets buried again by more falling books*


	10. Duck, Duck, Goose (Candles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an ideal world, my life would be a game of ‘duck, duck, duck.’ Duck being the girl I used to be infatuated with. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.  
> But we all know that isn’t how it goes. ‘Duck’ can only go on for so long until the goose comes along. That goose that catches your attention, that goose that's the one you’re really interested in, the goose that you want to chase you.  
> Duck, duck, goose. Hannah, Hannah, Marco.

Question: What do you do when you think you might be kinda gay for your best friend?

Answer: You stalk through your ex girlfriend’s facebook profile to see if you feel anything towards her.

Question: Isn’t that a little creepy?                  

Answer: Technically, yes, but I’m letting this one slide. For science.

I opened up my facebook feed and typed the name Hannah Bodt into the search bar. I rarely used the site, which Hannah clearly knew as nothing on her profile involved me. In fact, a lot of it included one Eren Jaeger.

I started on the statuses, scrolling through the various shit that she got up to on a daily basis. Her exciting life let her friends know every single insignificant detail of what she did from painting her toenails to bungee jumping from a bridge with her best friend.

Now, when I say that nothing on her profile involved me, I really do mean _nothing._ Not even a ‘happy birthday’ on my wall. Not even a ‘well done’ when I sold a song. Not even a ‘congratulations to us’ on our one year anniversary. Or our six month. Or on Valentine’s day. _Nothing._ It was like I never even existed, like she never wanted anybody to know that we were together.

I rested my cheek on my pulled up knee as I scrolled, occasionally reading the comments on her slightly more interesting posts. It was fair to say that I was getting bored. Her life didn’t seem all that interesting; her feed was mostly piled up with inside jokes between herself and her friends and lots of shared photos of kittens or funny videos of puppies. (I watched a few, and I didn’t see what was so hilarious about a wiener dog stuck in the sleeve of a hoodie). I scrolled and scrolled until I reached what must have been her birthday, assuming from the many, _many_ statuses. The top one, however, made me groan.

Marco Bodt: **Happy birthday little sis! Twenty’s a big number, you’re so old ;)**

Comments:  
Hannah Bodt: **Oi you! You’re older than me! Thanks tho Marky! :D**

I groaned not because of the memory of her birthday, however, but because I perked up at the sight of Marco’s name, my face finally fleeing its position of being glued to the side of my knee.

I decided on a new tactic – clicking through her photos. If her statuses weren’t enough of a distraction, perhaps her face would be. I started to tap the arrow keys to a set timing, looking at each photo briefly before moving along. If I was doing this a month ago, I’d be having the time of my life, freaking out over how adorable she looked in those pyjamas and how beautiful that selfie was and how great she looked with those wide-rimmed sunglasses. But now? It wasn’t doing anything for me. She was pretty, sure, but there was no sense of longing, no indescribable need to be with her again. I should have been ecstatic for being free of feelings for her, I _know,_ but when you’re trying to convince yourself that you don’t have a crush on your best friend – which, if you were, would make you... well, _not straight_ – you’re sort of prepared to do anything. Even if it means re-obsessing over your ex.

I kept clicking, desperate to find something that would make me pause to look at longer, to find _anything_ that might prove to me that I still liked her and not her older brother. It was like a game of duck-duck-goose, except the goose never came. I was the annoying kid that goes around the circle over and over, laughing his ass off at how pissed the other kids are getting because why can’t he just fucking _choose,_ god damn it.

Duck. Duck. Duck. Duck. Duck.

I clicked and clicked, through the photos of her week in Italy with her friends. I clicked and clicked, through the photos of her trip up to Jinae with her sisters. I clicked and clicked, through her club experience. Through her birthday party. Through her selfies at the beach.

Duck. Duck. Duck. Then I saw it.

_Goose._

The picture that made me pause. Lightly tanned skin with a creamy t-shirt stuck down with sweat. Large, round, reflective sunglasses over those breathtaking eyes that I could never look away from. Brown hair that should be neatly parted down the middle that was instead messy and tacky from the wind, and _damn_ was that sexy. The dorky, toothy grin that was very rarely missing. Those freckles, a nebula of freckles from the right cheek to the left, all the way across the barrier that was the nose in the middle, too. The arm slung around the shoulders of their little sister who was taking the selfie. I sighed. Yep, that’s hella attractive.

 _Jean,_ I alerted myself in my head, breaking my stare at the man on the screen in front of me. _Jean, that’s Marco._

I groaned again, slamming the lid of my laptop shut and resuming the foetal position, head in hands. I wish I never saw the goose. Why couldn’t it have been never ending ducks?

 _Okay,_ I told myself, climbing up to my feet again and standing in front of the mirror to stare at my reflection. My sandy hair had grown longer recently, and my undercut needed trimming. _Okay._ I placed my palms on the glass and locked eyes with myself.

“I’m not gay.” I told myself aloud, focusing hard on my thoughts. “I-I’m not gay. Not gay. Totally straight. No homo.” I more or less repeated this over a few times before being interrupted by a light roll of knuckles against a hard wooden door.

“Jean? Are you okay in there?” Shit.

“Yeah, I’m cool. I’m good! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m tooootally good.” There was an awkward silence and I wished that he would leave. Wished that he would leave me to my no-homoing. I heard the door slowly opening behind me and I closed my eyes, facing down towards the floor with clenched teeth.

“Can I help you?” I asked. I didn’t want to speak to anyone right now, and especially not him. Frankly, I was ready to start avoiding him because this wasn’t a crush that I was willing to accept easily.

“I uh... I heard you hitting your head on the wall so...” Now that he mentioned it, there was a slight throbbing in my forehead.

“N-nope, I don’t think you did,” I scrunched my face up angrily having stuttered. I refused to look at him yet.  As much as I loved that face, I couldn’t let myself look at it. No way.

“Oh,” The silence filled the room again along with the smell of Marco. Maybe a week ago I wouldn’t have picked up on it, but who are we kidding here, I _liked_ him now, and everybody knows how people get when they like someone. A light chuckle came from the open doorway, and I could practically see him with his head shaking slowly, drooped downwards. I could practically _see_ his smile, even without turning my head to look at him. Even without looking up. “I literally cannot remember a thing from last night.” I mentally pumped the air with my fist.

“Hah, yeah, me neither,” I lied. He laughed again and I argued my reasons for and against turning around in my head.

For: He’s really cute.  
Against: There’s an 80% chance you’ll turn red.  
For: It’s normal behaviour. Normal people look at the people they’re talking to.  
Against: You’ll probably get a hard-on if he still has bed hair.

I risked the blushing and the boner to turn around, pressing my hands firmly against the cold glass behind my back. Yeah. That was a mistake.

His bed hair was the perfect, heart-crippling combination of adorable and sexy, sticking up in at least thirty different places. Maybe it was because it was usually so neat and obviously taken care of that I loved so much to see the natural Marco, if you will.

His freckles also seemed more profound in the mornings. I didn’t know if this was something I’d made myself believe or if it was a trick of the lighting or something, but my God, there was no going back now. He was perfect. And oh wow, was that a boner in my pants?

How had I been this blind for so long?

Fuck. He really was my goose.

Marco turned to lean his weight onto the door frame, and he stared at me with a sleepy, hung-over smile on his freckled face.

“I remember standing outside,” he started, rubbing his temple with his right hand, the other pressed against the edge of the door to support himself. “Then... I remember going in and dancing for a bit, and we played beer pong...” He paused to look up at the ceiling, and I stretched my leg forward to prod him with my toe as a prompt to continue. He looked startled and flinched at the touch, causing me to cower away a little. “Oh, right. There was the beer pong, and then...” He chuckled to himself, that same happy chuckle as always, looking down at the floor with that stupid-ass adorable grin. “And then I don’t remember much else,” he moved his head back up to look at me and I flushed brightly red when I realised that I’d been staring rather intently at his face.

My heart froze in my chest, stopped beating entirely, I swear. It was as though just having his eyes fixated on mine was enough to send my head spinning, my thoughts having become a scrambled mess inside my brain. What were we... what were we talking about? I couldn’t focus. I settled on a laugh, I was sure he’d probably said something funny. Marco was a funny guy. Oh yeah – how little we could remember.

“I- I remember a little more than that,” I started, desperately trying to keep the conversation going. We were best friends, I couldn’t slip up. I had to act like nothing was different, despite my hands shaking behind my back, despite my heart alternating between beating far too fast and not beating at all, despite my stuttering just trying to speak to him. “Do you remember Connie’s costume? When he eventually changed, that is.”

Marco shook his head, drawing his eyebrows together.

“No, I don’t think I do,” He paused to chew his lip and I desperately tried not to mimic him. “Should I?” I laughed.

“Heck, you must’ve been really drunk to forget that. It was.... definitely quite memorable.” He chuckled light heartedly again and my heart fluttered. Well, at least I knew for sure what the fluttering was now.

“Part of me wants to know but the other part knows that I really, _really_ don’t.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” I smirked, but when he began to chew his bottom lip again it became a concentrated frown. Oh god, he was cute.

“Yeah. Yeah, go on then.” I beamed, straightening up from where I was slouched against the mirror.

“You remember what Sasha was wearing?” He nodded, “Well imagine Connie...” I paused, trying to prepare him for the mental image he was about to receive. “...In a matching, bright pink mankini.” Immediately, both of Marco’s hands rushed upwards to cover his mouth as his face turned almost the exact shade of pink I was talking about. I laughed harshly and his eyes pinched shut, horrified at the image alone.

“Yeah!” I pointed at him, shouting over the combined sound of my laughter and his groans. “Yeah, imagine actually _seeing_ that!” His groaning subsided into laughing with me, and I think he actually wiped away a tear before lowering his hands back down to rest on the door.

“Jeez, I have a pounding headache,” he said, curling up against the door and burying his head against it. (Side note: That was fucking adorable). “You got any tips for a hangover?” There were a few things that I could think of off the top of my head, and to be honest most of them would probably benefit me more than him. I could take my opportunity here and suggest something like ‘Hey, Marco, we could have sex and then you’d completely forget about your headache,’ which I would if:

A)     He was gay or bi or something that would allow him to be remotely interested in guys

B)     If the above were true, he specifically liked _me_

C)     I had the confidence to say it, even if both of the above somehow happened.

“Well, I personally find that making a fort and watching movies works a treat.” However, what I didn’t expect was for him to respond with

“I like it! Let’s do that.”

Let’s. **_Apostrophe S._** Plural. Both of us. _Together._ That was a lot of closeness for two guys and I... Frankly, I was afraid of what I’d do in a confined space like that with Marco. I felt the rush of red-hot heat spread over my face within a matter of seconds. I needed to put him off the idea. I _needed to._

“S-sure, we’ll probably have to move the sofa and table around though, and-”

“Well duh, how else are we going to make a fort? Amateur,” with that, he left my bedroom without even a second glance over his shoulder. Without even knowing that I was staring at his glorious butt.

I took a deep breath in and let it out excessively slowly. After a lot of debating with myself, a lot of confidence boosting and building up a _lot_ of courage, I convinced myself to follow him out of the door. _One foot at a time,_ I instructed myself. Instructions help when you’re struggling, I’d found. Talk yourself through the situation step by step. Explain your actions to yourself as you’re doing them and continue to reassure yourself that what you’re doing is right, and that the outcome will be worth it.

_One foot at a time, meet Marco in the living room. You’re going to build a fort with Marco, just like you have before alone._

When I emerged into the living room, the main (pretty much only) two pieces of furniture, the sofa and the coffee table, had already been rearranged to create the walls of the fort. Marco, however, was nowhere to be seen. I went back into my room to collect as many blankets and cushions as I could find before coming back out and dumping them all in a pile in the middle of the room. With Marco still not in sight, I assumed he was in his bedroom, and I walked over to his door and knocked three times out of habit.

“You in there?” I called, pressing my ear up against the white wood. I heard scrambling, more scrambling, and an almighty **_‘thud.’_** “Marco?” I called again, and when there was no response I attempted to push the door open, only it wouldn’t open any more than a fraction of an inch. “Marco? Are you okay in there?”

“Mmph,” I shoved the door again, harder this time, to be greeted with a yelp and a rustle. I managed to open the door just enough to shimmy through the gap this time, and when I did, I realised that this was the first time I’d actually been in his room.

The smell of Marco was overpowering.

To the right of the door in the corner of the room was a dark, wooden chest of drawers with a pink flowering plant on top of it – I didn’t know that Marco liked plants, but I supposed that it made sense. Directly opposite the door were a chair and a desk with a laptop on top of it, and on the wall behind that was a poster for the last Harry Potter film. To the left of this was a small, square table with a red lamp, and to the left of that was a double bed with red sheets. There were a few family portraits around the room, and at the foot of the bed was a tall but thin open cupboard, and between this and the open door was Marco, trapped underneath a pile of thick quilts and blankets.

Well, I say that. All I could actually see was the pile of blankets with two feet sticking out of one end, and a hand flapping half-heartedly out of the top.

“Mmph” he repeated, and he pulled a blanket away from his face so that I could see him. “Note to self, never try _that_ again.” I laughed and knelt down beside him to help pull away the various blankets until he was free.

“Jesus, how many blankets do you keep in there?” Marco shrugged.

“You never know when you’re going to need them,”

“Well yeah, but you don’t need enough for the entirety of America.” He chuckled and I offered my hand to help him up. When he accepted, placing his palm against mine, I felt the sweat already beginning to build up in the space between our two hands. I let go as soon as I could and I hoped that he didn’t notice when I swiped my palm against my pyjama pants.

“So – fort?”

“Yes! Fort!”

With our arms piled high with variously coloured blankets and pillows, we made our way back through to the lounge and added them to the large heap in the centre of the room. There was a cool draft in the room from where the open balcony door was letting in a soft breeze, just strong enough to make Marco’s hair rustle gently.

“I should let you know that I haven’t made one of these since I was a kid, and it had to be big enough for five people so I probably won’t be much help making a smaller one.” He raised one arm to scratch the back of his neck.

“But... we’re two fully grown men, and if you were kids, it’ll probably have to be the same sort of size anyway.” After I said this, Marco puffed out his chest and stood up obnoxiously straight – even more so than he usually did. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m a _fully grown man,_ Jean,” he smiled his dorky little smile again, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his teeth. I wondered what it would taste like in my mouth instead of his, how it would feel if his tongue brushed over my own. I imagined how good his soft, pink lips would feel against my chapped ones and how he would bite my bottom lip and it would feel _so fucking-_

“Where should we start?” Damn it, Marco. I was having a moment.

“Um, good question actually... how about here?” And so the assembling of the fort began. It took a while with the combined casualties of Marco cutting his finger (god only knows how), the two of us falling into the fort and destroying it three times between the two of us, and me freezing up every time Marco stood just a little too close, or when Marco’s hand scraped over my back to grab another blanket, or when Marco looked me in the eyes for a fraction of a second too long, or when Marco... just... just _Marco_.

An hour and a quarter later (but who’s counting?) found Marco and I leaning against the sofa in a barely stable fort structured from an indoor washing line and said sofa – we found that it held things together much better than the table did. We were sat the perfect distance apart, close enough to be the close friends that we were yet still far enough that I wasn’t made of stone. For a brief moment, I closed my eyes, leaning backwards and allowing the crown of my head to rest against the hard sofa back.

“Why don’t we watch a scary movie?” I shook my head.

“Na, I only watch those at Halloween, it’s not close enough yet.” The truth was that I was shit-scared of them, but Marco didn’t need to know that.

“Aw come on, it’s October tomorrow, think of it as a ‘congratulations on it almost being Halloween.’” I opened one eye to look at him and smirk judgingly, which made the skin behind his freckles turn a carnation sort of pink. It wasn’t really that vibrant, but to me, everything about him was vibrant.

Vibrant eyes, vibrant features, vibrant personality. He was so vibrant, and I couldn’t say no.

“Okay fine, but not too scary.” I pointed a finger accusingly at him and he smiled deviously.

“What? Is Jean afraid of a little scary movie?” He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly and I hit him on his bicep (holy shit, I forgot how much he worked out).

“No! I just don’t think it’s close enough to Halloween to watch a terrifying one!” I avoided his eye contact and saw him shake his head as he laughed out of the corner of my eye. He was a dick sometimes. A cute one though.

He got up and returned shortly with a small stack of movies, and after repeatedly telling him that no, I wasn’t going to watch Scream with him, he put The Woman In Black into the DVD player. As the opening credits began to play with the eerie soundtrack, Marco whispered

“If you get scared, you can hold my hand,” and I could _hear_ his grin. I scoffed. _Well, actually, I would if I could._

The silence lasted for a long while, all the way up until the woman in black herself appeared in the window on screen.

“FUCK!” I yelped. My voice cracked half way through the word too, making me sound horrifically un-manly. I would have been more ashamed had Marco not had almost the exact same reaction. I smirked.

“What? Is Marco afraid of a little scary movie?” He shoved my arm playfully, a little too hard, and sent me crashing into the side of the fort causing the entire thing to fall down on top of us. There was a moment of silence as we both tried to take in what had just happened, and in my case, why I couldn’t see. I didn’t know if he was in the same position, because _I couldn’t see._

“I currently cannot breathe.” When Marco spoke, we both erupted into laughter, crawling out from our destroyed fort. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve as I stood up only to trip when my pants leg got caught on the edge of the fallen washing line.

“Well, now what?” I asked through a laugh badly masked with fake disappointment. I stood with my hands on my hips staring down at the heaped mess with Marco still half underneath it. He grinned stupidly at me and I returned it because fuck; I couldn’t _not_ return it _._ I helped him out and we stood staring at the dilapidated fort and my heart sank a little to think that, after taking an hour and a quarter to build, it fell apart after not very long at all.

“Have you eaten yet this morning?” He asked as he brushed one hand backwards through his matted hair. _Stop doing that, Marco. I’m gonna cry, you’re too cute._ With perfect timing, my stomach grumbled. He snickered. “Guess not, then. I’m gonna do some scrambled egg, you want some?”

“Jeez, that’s a fancy-ass breakfast,” He turned to look at me, peeling his eyes away from the mess of blankets.

“It’s just egg...” we fell into silence again, staring at each other with emotionless faces until he cracked (pun not intended) and started to giggle again. It wasn’t long before I joined him.

“Okay okay, I’ll have some fancy egg. But can we at _least_ turn off this movie and stick some music on or something?” Marco rolled his eyes at me before walking to the raised kitchen, flapping one hand at me over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. As long as it’s good.” I smirked at him even though he couldn’t see me.

“You’re in for a treat – my music taste is _the bomb.”_

“Never say that again.”

“Noted.”

I plugged my iPod into the speakers and put it on all songs: shuffle before joining Marco in the kitchen.

“You might be able to make fancy egg, but I bet you can’t dance as well as me,” I teased from the other side of the table. Marco didn’t turn to look at me when he responded; he just continued to move the scrambling eggs around the pan with a wooden spoon.

“I saw you dancing last night, Jean. You were fairly crap,” I tried my best to sound offended.

“Hey! I was really drunk. I’ll have you know I’m actually a very good dancer!” I really wasn’t. Marco put the wooden spoon down on the counter top and turned to face me, his butt pressed against the backs of his hands which were clutching the edge of the counter.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” I smirked slyly and walked to the pile that used to be a fort to move it to the edge of the room so that I had space to dance. I turned the song over as ‘Mama’ by My Chem isn’t a very dancey song, and it was replaced with Fluorescent Adolescent by the Arctic Monkeys. Marco laughed at my opening move, which was to squat slowly and fling my arms out to the side.

“Shut up! It gets better,” I promised. And I’m sure that it did. Twenty seconds of squatting and flailing later, Marco was laughing so hard that I wasn’t even sure his eyes were open enough to see me anymore. His eyes always closed when he laughed. When he was really laughing, hard and proper, he would tip his head back and his eyes would squeeze shut. His arms would fold across his stomach and his shoulders would shake violently, and then he would realise and get self conscious and he would tip his head down towards the floor and tense his muscles to prevent the shaking. I wanted to tell him that his laugh was adorable, the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard, the cutest movement I’d ever seen, but I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t. Because Marco didn’t know how I felt about him.

“Try like this,” he called over the music, coming to stand in front of me in the lounge. He started to dance, and he fucking _waltzed_ around the room like he was at a fancy ball or some shit, except we were in our apartment, and he was _waltzing to the Arctic Monkeys._

I wished that I laughed like he did, but instead I had an ugly cackle that made my face screw up and my neck throw my head forwards.

“You can’t do that dance like that to a song like this, man!”

“Yeah I can! Watch me!” He tilted his head higher, made his back straighter, and continued to solo-waltz his way around the room.

“It’s not even a proper waltz! You need two people!”

I realised my mistake almost immediately.

“Then dance with me!” He swept over towards me and scooped my left hand up with his right one and shot them skyward together. My heart began to race. With the single touch of his palm against mine, I felt pleasant warmth spread through my body. It was like a fire had been set ablaze inside me, a first flickering candle that had been knocked over when our flesh touched, sending flames and sparks through my veins and my arteries. It circled around my organs and it flowed through each of my limbs, eventually coming to settle in two places. Half of it lingered in the palm of my hand where I held Marco, the candle, the initial flame. The other half was right in the centre of my chest.

Maybe ‘like’ wasn’t a strong enough word any more.

His other hand gripped my waist tightly, and I figured the only suitable response was to hold his shoulder with mine, so that was what I did. We danced for a while, laughing and smiling our way through the song. And the next one. And the next one.

“Jean, that’s the twelfth time you’ve stepped on my toe,”

“Well sorry! Not all of us are dancing pro’s, and not all of us are so good with hangovers, either,” I paused to rub my temple with the hand that was on Marco’s shoulder. I refused to unlace my fingers from his.

“Look, I’ll teach you, if you want?” I shook my head. As much as I desperately, _desperately_ wanted to, maybe when I felt like I might throw up wasn’t the best time to learn how to waltz.

“Na, I’m too lightheaded to do any more spinning,” and we stopped. We stopped spinning, stopped dancing, stopped talking, but we didn’t separate our bodies. Not yet. The music continued to play, but the silence between Marco and I overpowered that noise. I could still hear my heart thrumming from my chest as my eardrums pounded and my head swam a sea of emotion, but the silence was still strong.

I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Man, I’m tired as frick,” I told him.

“Mm, me too.” I left my eyes closed for a second too long, and my head began to fall forward and I realised a second too late. Marco’s forehead was warm against mine, but pleasantly so. It wasn’t an icy sort of cold or an uncomfortable burning heat; it was a pleasurable cool that balanced out my now burning face from accidentally making us touch like this.

But... he didn’t pull away. I opened my eyes to see if he was uncomfortable only to be met with deep, coffee brown irises that reflected my topaz ones. He was staring right at me, our eyes locked on each other’s, just... staring. Marco was the first to blink. His eye lids fluttered shut, his eyelashes like the wings of a butterfly closing together and breaking apart again so elegantly.

_This isn’t what friends do, Jean, you need to stop this._

I tried to tell myself, I did, I swear! But I... I couldn’t. Seconds passed, maybe minutes, I’ve never been good at tracking time, and yet still neither of us looked away. His face was so close to mine, close enough to just tip my chin forward and kiss him. I blinked slowly, the silence still there apart from my heart’s now slow and steady beat. I was comfortable. I was happy. I was so nervous.

My left hand and his right hand were still pressed together, my right hand still on his shoulder and his left hand still on my hip. I never wanted to move. I wanted to stay there forever.

_Jean, seriously, friends don’t do this._

With his face so close to mine, I noticed flecks of gold throughout his brown eyes that I’d never seen before. It was beautiful. Vibrant. Marco was an orchid. Marco was my candle. Marco was my goose.

His face scrunched up and his nose wrinkled, which was adorable, but felt strange against my face.

“Do you smell that?” I hadn’t been paying attention to anything other than his eyes but...

“Is that... burning?” His eyebrows un-furrowed and his golden-brown eyes widened hugely.

“The egg!” He pulled away and immediately my forehead was cold, the air brushing past it insensitively rubbing it in that Marco wasn’t there anymore. “Oh, shit, Jean there’s no way this is edible, sorry.” I sighed.

“Not good enough, Marco. I was expecting fancy egg,” He poked his tongue out at me and I snorted.

“I’ll make you fancy egg tomorrow then. Maybe we should just have this cold pizza from the other night? I don’t know if it’ll still taste okay, I don’t really know how long you can keep pizza for...” I zoned out. Sorry, Marco.

What just happened? Did we really stand that close?

My cold forehead reminded me that yes, it did.

My clammy left hand reminded me that yes, it did.

My cloudy head reminded me that yes, it did.

My aching, longing chest reminded me that oh God, it really did, didn’t it?

“...Jean?”

“Hah? Oh, yeah, cold pizza sounds great.”

_With you, Marco, everything’s great._

I followed Marco back over to the kitchen and took a seat at the wooden table, the snowy tulips bent towards me in their early days of wilting. As he fumbled with the fridge and cut a slice from the pizza, I rested the frail petals in my hand, my thumb running over their smooth skin and feeling the bumps and patterns in their wrinkles.

It was sort of symbolic, maybe, of my relationships. Hannah’s flower dying as I drifted away from her. They died a little more every second, every second that my love for Marco grew stronger.

As the tulips slowly died, the orchids were just beginning to grow.

“Hey, Marco?” I continued to run my thumb across the glossy white petal, so fragile between my fingers.

“Mm?” He looked up over his shoulders from where he was crouched by the cupboard, retrieving plates.

“We should get some new flowers; these ones are pretty dead now.” I moved my index finger closer to the stem of the flower and the petal I’d been stroking lost its grip. It drifted swiftly down onto the table to join two that already rested there. I hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea actually,” he pulled out the chair opposite me and dropped down into it, the pizza box and two plates now on the surface, too. I scooped up the three petals and slipped them into my pocket.

“What about orchids? Pink ones, maybe.” I didn’t look at him.

“Sure, why not?” Silence fell. “Why orchids?” I shrugged.

_Because you’re an orchid._

“Dunno, I just think they’re pretty,” Marco nodded and I smiled weakly.

_They’re almost as beautiful as you, Marco._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, how long has it been? Four weeks? I'm so sorry wow Jeez.  
> I know this took a helluva long time to write but I'm really happy with it, what do we think about the bit with the foreheads? Hmm? Hmmmmm? *eyebrow wiggle*  
> There's so much homo coming soon in these next chapters. As always, feel free to leave a comment or a kudos or whatever because I still love to know what you think of this fic, and stay tuned, my loves!


	11. Âmes sœurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's never been good at tracking time. In fact, he's never been good at keeping track of anything, and this includes his feelings for Marco.  
> It was ironic, really. The man afraid of rejection had fallen for the man afraid of falling in love.

It was Sunday, October the 8th. I hadn’t been sad because of Hannah in three to four weeks. I’d scrapped my song about her two and a half weeks ago. I’d been crushing on Marco for a week and two days. I’d _known_ this for a week. I’d started writing a song about him two days ago. It was getting out of hand.

I sat at the kitchen table alone reading the takeout menu, the blossoming pink orchids at the centre peering down at me. Marco was out. Marco was on a date.

I wasn’t reading the menu as such, more so staring blankly at it with too much on my mind. Marco was on a date. He was probably having a great time sat in a nice restaurant with a pretty girl and here I was, alone. Ordering a curry by myself like the sad loser that I was.

My hand twitched next to my phone on the table, shuffling towards it and then falling limp again. I was selfish and a loser and a dick, and I just wanted Marco to myself. I wasn’t even in the right position to be like that to him, either. To him, we were just two friends, two flatmates, and that was it. I often forgot that he didn’t know I was crushing on him, but it didn’t take long for me to come crashing back down to reality with the bruises on my heart to prove it.

My hand shuffled back to my phone and this time, I picked it up, but I avoided Marco’s contact. Instead, I invited Reiner over for some one-to-one-advice-on-being-homo.

 **To: Reiner  
** Hey man, you free?

 **From: Reiner  
** Yeah, what’s up?

 **To: Reiner  
** You wanna come round and get a curry or something? Marco’s out and I need some advice

 **From: Reiner  
** Give me 20 mins, and order me a pathia.

Twenty five minutes and a food delivery later found Reiner and I sat on the floor of my small apartment’s living room on the play station with two bowls of curry.

“So,” Reiner began after shooting my character straight through the forehead, “You said you wanted advice on something?” My lungs felt tight inside my chest and suddenly I didn’t want to tell him, even though we were really close.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Woah, you’ve paused the game. Must be serious.” I gave a breathy laugh and let my head fall back against the couch.

“Yeah, you could say that.” I paused and bit my lip, trying to think of a way to ease into the topic. “How did... How did you know that you were gay?” Reiner laughed violently.

“I got a huge-ass crush on a guy, that’s how.” Once he stopped laughing, he noticed the seriousness in my face and softened his tone. “Is everything alright Jean? You’re kinda scaring me.” Yeah, I preferred it when Marco said my name. He said it softer, but he had a softer voice anyway. He had a _Marco_ voice. Shit. That’s why.

“Well... how would you define ‘huge-ass’?” For a moment, Reiner was silent as he thought, and he came to rest as I was against the front of the couch.

“He was all I thought about. I mean, I’d never really liked many girls before, anyway, and I’d had a couple small crushes on guys, but when I met Bert... man, the gay hit me hard.” He snickered and I smiled. “You just... you just _know,_ you know? You can just _feel_ the homo when it happens.” I nodded.

“Yeah, I... I know.” Reiner stopped staring at the spot between his feet and he twisted his head towards me slowly, sort of like an owl.

“You _know?”_ I nodded again and chewed my bottom lip. He continued to stare at me, and by this point, it was pretty damn obvious that I was going to have to tell him sooner or later.

“I... I think I like Marco.” His grin was ridiculous.

“I called it! I _totally_ called it! Bertholdt said you didn’t but I _knew_!”

“Excuse you?” To be completely honest with you, I’d rather my friends didn’t discuss who I did and didn’t like behind my back. Reiner’s hand flew up to cover his mouth, but I could still see his grin spreading behind it.

“Well... Yeah, by ‘ _I’_ called it, I mean Sasha called it and I kinda sorta immediately agreed with her.”

“Oh, great, so Sasha’s in on this too? You, Sasha, and Bert. Anyone else I should know about?”

“Weeeell...” He slid a little further away from me, intimidated, and began to twirl his thumbs together. “Everyone else too. Like, our entire group. Bar you and Marco, of course.”

Great. Fucking great.

“Okay, geez. I’m coming out to you and you’re telling me that you knew I was gay before _I_ knew I was gay. Great. Thank you.”

“Face it dude, it was _obvious!_ Sasha’s right, he’s the only customer you smile for, I’ve noticed it when I stop by in the mornings.”

“What? I’m not _that_ grumpy.” Silence. “Ouch.” Reiner laughed roughly.

“You know it’s the truth! You’ve just admitted it!” I poked my tongue out him and he shoved my arm lightly. “Okay, okay. I’ll be serious. What makes you think you like him?” I sighed.

“I don’t know. There isn’t anything in particular, that’s the thing.”

“Do you mean there’s nothing in particular? Or do you mean there’s _everything_ in particular?” I let my head flop forwards and I grabbed a pillow from the couch behind me to muffle the sound of my voice.

“Everything.” I heard Reiner sigh.

“I feel ya, bro.” There was silence for a moment until I felt a firm hand run soothing circles on my back. I looked up from the pillow.

“He’s on a date, Reiner. That’s why he isn’t here. He’s on a _date,_ and probably with some pretty girl that he’s gonna fall madly in love with and I’m just gonna be stuck alone as the fucking insignificant gay loser that I am.” I dropped my head back into the pillow and took heavy breaths. “It’s not like I can keep my distance to get over him, either. I fucking _live_ with him.” For a moment, Reiner was silent.

“That... that sucks, man.  That really sucks, and I’m not going to lie to you and say that you’ll get over him, ‘cause that’s not what you want to hear, and it really sucks, and I’m sorry.”

The sound of a key in the lock startled us both and we quickly resumed the game, ready to pretend that nothing had ever happened. His words had comforted me, though. They always did.

Marco stumbled through the door, clearly a little bit tipsy, beaming from ear to ear with the fucking cutest grin I’d ever seen. And it crushed me to know that someone else was the cause of it.

“Hey Jean! Oh- hey Reiner, too!” he giggled and swayed as he walked across the room, Reiner and I both watching as he went.

“How did- how did it go?” I asked, the lump in my throat making the words sound clogged. I coughed.

“Really, really well! He was so nice! I’m going to bed now, it’s late, night!” With that, he stumbled to his room and closed the door behind him, still giggling to himself. I turned to face Reiner.

“Did he just say...”

“ _He?”_

I was silent, letting the storm inside my head blow over. Marco was... Marco was gay? I didn’t know how to react, how to respond. At least Marco wasn’t in the room to see this – thank _god_ he wasn’t. I fell to the side and lay on the floor, motionless. Marco was gay. _Marco was capable of liking me._ For the briefest moment, there was a spark of hope inside me, but it almost immediately flickered out.

He was capable of liking me, but he didn’t.

I didn’t know if it hurt more before, knowing that there was no way it was ever possible, or if it hurt more now, knowing that he could, and yet he didn’t.

“You okay there, buddy? Isn’t this a good thing?” Reiner patted my calf once. I didn’t reply. “Guess not.”

I rolled over onto my front with my knees still tucked to my chest, my face pressed against the burgundy carpet. My head was empty of thoughts and empty of emotions and not in the nice way that it is when you’re carefree. I couldn’t feel anything. I was numb.

“Do you want me to go? Leave you to... whatever it is that you’re trying to do?” I didn’t reply. I’d forgotten how to speak. “It’s eleven anyway, I should be off. I’ll uh, I’ll see you soon. Keep me posted.” He patted my calf again before standing up and leaving the apartment. I was alone.

In that moment, I realised just how hard I’d fallen for Marco Bodt.

* * *

It was Tuesday, October the 17th. I hadn’t been sad because of Hannah in around five weeks. I’d scrapped my song about her four weeks ago. I’d been crushing on Marco for two weeks and four days, and I’d _known_ this for two weeks and two days. I’d started writing a song about him a week and four days ago. A week and Two days ago, I found out that he was gay. My “crush” on him was _really_ getting out of hand.

It was during my shift at the coffee shop that I met Thomas for the first time.

Marco came into the shop at 10am, just like he did every day. And, just like I did every day, I’d been eagerly waiting for him, only this time, he wasn’t alone. And that meant no nice morning chat for me. I tried to dump the task of serving them onto Sasha, but she refused, telling me that she wasn’t letting me break the trend just because some blonde dude was with him.

The two men walked up to the counter, their fingers laced together in the space between them.

“...And then it just came straight back out of his nose!” Marco broke into laughter at the blonde’s story. His head fell backwards and his eyes were tightly closed. His free hand took a firm grip around his stomach before he brought it up to his face to wipe away a tear. I wished that I’d made him do that.

“Morning, Jean!” He was even chirpier than usual, and I didn’t like it. It was too chirpy. It sounded fake. “How’re you?” The blonde man was playing with Marco’s fingers with both hands, looking between Marco’s hand and his eyes. Marco’s eyes, however, were mostly looking at me, flicking to the blonde’s face every so often and smiling.

“Fine.” I was far from fine.

“Good! This is Thomas, by the way.” Thomas extended a hand to me and beamed.

“It’s Tom, nice to meet you, Jean. I’ve heard about you!” Marco’s expression dropped as soon as Thomas looked away from him and his cheeks flushed pink.

“I- I don’t talk about him _that_ much...” He said.

“Sure you do! He’s your best friend, right?” Thomas laughed and looked back at Marco before returning to face me. I begrudgingly shook his hand and feigned a smile.

“Yeah,” Marco muttered, and although his face didn’t show it, his eyes looked so sad. “My best friend.” My heart broke a little with the combination of the eyes and the words. I wanted to make Marco feel better; I didn’t understand why he was sad. As much as I envied Thomas, he seemed nice. He was perfect for Marco.

“Nice to meet you too, Thomas.”

“Should we go sit down, Marc?” And then to me, “Two of whatever he usually has should be great, thanks.” He smiled and walked away to find a table, leaving Marco and I alone for a brief moment.

“Marc?” He looked down at his feet.

“Yeah, it’s the only thing I don’t really like about him. The names he calls me are ridiculous.” I snickered in a desperate attempt to hide how I really felt. When I’d just met Marco, I’d written ‘Marc’ on his cup by accident. I think I actually felt my heart shatter a little bit.

“I’ll get your drinks,” I said with a flashed smile and no eye contact, to which Marco said thank you and went to sit with Thomas.

I stood still for a while, staring at where Marco had previously been standing. Jesus Christ, I’d fallen for him hard. I was so jealous of Thomas, and I know it’s wrong, but I couldn’t help but hope that something would go badly between them.

A hand slapped down on my shoulder, startling me, and Sasha’s head popped up next to mine.

“So, Mr. I-don’t-have-a-crush-on-Marco, how’re things going with that?” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” I ducked under her hand and tried to make my escape, only to have my path blocked by a wild Connie.

“Not so fast. We know what’s up.” I tried to avoid him too, but Sasha was too quick for me. There was no way that I was getting around these two. I groaned.

“How did you find out?” They simultaneously grinned at me like short devils. Bastards.

“Well, I’ve had my suspicions since day one, you know this,” Sasha began, and Connie continued.

“And then Reiner, lovely fellow, that one, confirmed it! And ever since this morning when he came in, we’ve been waiting for the right chance to spring this conversation on you.”

“You’re both dicks. And Reiner’s no better.” I made another attempt at dodging them, but Sasha’s arm flung out in front of me at lightning speed and pulled me into her.

“I believe we said ‘Not so fast’, Jeanny boy.” I flailed in her grip for a moment and quickly gave up when I realised how pointless it was, and also how stupid I looked.

“What do you want?”

“We just want to hear the words from your own mouth, you’ve pretty much confirmed it anyway so you might as well just come out with it,” Connie said, and added as a side comment to Sasha, “Hahah, get it? ‘Come out’ with it?” to which Sasha snickered.

“I’m not admitting to anything. Can you let me go now? I need to make these drinks, Marco just ordered.”

“Ooh, was it _Marco?_ Your beloved baby _Marco?”_

“Shut the fuck up Sasha or I swear to god I will throw you in the smoothie blender.” I looked over my shoulder to see her grinning devilishly at me.

“Just say it man, or do you want us to go and ask him personally if he feels the same? I’m sure Tom wouldn’t mind, Marco’s a good looking lad, ain’t he?”

“Fine! Fine, Connie. I like Marco. Are you happy now?” I felt Sasha’s arms unwind from my torso as she backed away from me.

“Wow, I didn’t think he’d actually admit to it.”

“Yeah, me neither.” I shot them both a glare.

“Well I did, okay? I like Marco. Can I get on with my life now?” They stayed where they were as I left to make the drinks. I wasn’t alone for long, as Connie popped up on my right hand side.

“Wait, so, are you like, gay?” I hung my head low and pinched my eyes shut. _Try not to kill them just yet. It’s just gone ten in the morning._

“I don’t know. I guess so? Maybe. Ugh, I don’t know! Can you just leave me to figure this out?” I picked up a sharpie to write on the cups, and it physically pained me to have to write those two names together – no, just to have to _think_ of those two names together.

“Hey, Jean? I know we take the piss but we really are here for you, okay? Anything you need.” I don’t know when she got there, but Sasha was on my left, and she patted me on the back lightly. I let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks guys.” I flashed them each a grateful smile and they returned sympathetic ones, and Connie gave a last mumble of “We’re here, buddy” before they moved along.

I walked over to the front counter with the coffees and called the two names, and when Marco squeezed Thomas’ hand before leaving the table, I felt the tightness around my heart, too.

Of all the people I could have fallen for, why did it have to be Marco?

* * *

It was Thursday, October the 26th. I hadn’t been sad because of Hannah in around six... maybe seven weeks? I’d scrapped my song about her five... six? No, five. Five weeks ago. Maybe. I’d been crushing on Marco for... who are we kidding here? We all know that I suck at keeping track of time. Long story short, as nice as Thomas seemed to be, I’d never been more jealous of another person.

“Baby, I love you, I never want to let you go, the more... you... make me want...” I leant over the guitar seated in my lap to scribble angrily on the paper in front of me. “No, no that doesn’t work...” I muttered to myself.

It was pretty early in the morning (and by that I mean 10am) and I was _finally_ done with the melody of my new song that I would hopefully sell. However, the lyrics were where I always struggled, and this time was no different.

The balcony doors were closed and locked for a change so that the heat would stay inside, and although the air was stuffy and felt kind of stale, it was better than freezing to death.

As far as I was aware, I was home alone. Marco had been out with Thomas again last night and I hadn’t heard him come home. Every time I thought about it, I ended up picturing very non-PG things that could have happened, and let’s just say I should be the only one to ever see Marco like that, with that sexy grin and...

Jean, you gotta stop doing that.

He’d been stuck like toffee to my mind ever since we went to that club. He was a song stuck inside my head, and although it was a good song, it drove me insane because it just wouldn’t go away; the melody just wouldn’t leave me alone. I’d lost sleep because of this song playing over and over in my head. I’d tried the reverse, singing along to it and trying to use it as comfort to make myself drift off, but no. The song just kept me up instead.

The song followed me anywhere and everywhere.

After making a coffee and putting on my glasses which nobody knew that I needed, (I always wore contacts,) I sat back down on the floor and continued to play. I was only there for about five minutes until the door to Marco’s bedroom creaked open, thankfully slowly, buying me enough time to take off my glasses and slide them under my butt cheek. He yawned as he walked through the gap and then he stopped, leaning on the doorframe.

“Sounds good, Jean.” I wish that he was as blind as me because oh god, I was blushing redder than a red thing that had just won a competition in being the most red.

“Uh, thanks.” I rubbed the back on my neck and watched the blurry figure walk to the kitchen where he made a cup of coffee. I could just about make out his bed hair that was so fucking adorable, but his freckles had blended into his skin with my lack of sight.

“I thought you stayed at Thomas’ last night? I didn’t hear you come home.” It was easier to talk to him when I couldn’t see his face properly – maybe this was a tactic I should use more often.

“Oh, uh... yeah. We sort of had a little argument and... sorry, I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” Shit.

“Oh! N-no, that’s fine, talk about it when you’re ready. O-or not at all! If... if that’s... what you want...” Marco sighed.

“Thanks. I- I think I’ll just stay in my room this morning, if that’s okay.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I continued to watch him as he walked back over to his bedroom, his usual bounce nowhere to be seen but instead replaced with a slouch that was very un-Marco. He stopped just as he was about to close his door.

“Hey, Jean?”

“Hm?” I hoped he hadn’t noticed me staring at him.

“Is... is that song about someone in particular?” I took in a sharp breath. What was I supposed to say to that? No- no he asked if it was about _someone_ , not _who_ it was about. It was okay. I could get away with this.

“Well, yeah. Sorta.” If it was possible, I swear that his posture broke even more, his slouch overpowering him and making him cave in on himself.

“O-oh.” His voice sounded just as broken as he looked.

“Hey... Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something kinda personal, on a very different topic?”

“I guess so.”

I thought carefully about my words, desperately not wanting to offend him in any way.

“Why didn’t you tell me that... you know... you were into guys?” Marco leant back against the door frame and, if I could see where he was looking, I was fairly sure that he was avoiding eye contact.

“Well, I guess I didn’t see a reason to. You never had to tell me that you like girls, so why did I have to tell you, you know?” I hadn’t thought about it that way before. He suddenly looked uncomfortable, his back straightening and actually supporting his body. “Why? Does it... does it unsettle you?”

“What? No! Of course not!” _Quite the opposite, actually._ I shrugged. “I just wondered, is all. Fair enough though.” I vaguely smiled at him and I think he returned it before finally closing his door.

As soon as I knew that he couldn’t hear me, I groaned, and fell backwards. I heard a faint crunch.

Well, it seemed like I was going to need some new glasses.

* * *

It was Monday, October 30th. I’m not even going to bother with the introduction paragraph this time.

The weather was fairly shit. The sky was a shade of grey that was nearing black, though the vision of it was hazed by the blur of rain abusing my windscreen wipers. The sun was nowhere to be seen, probably taking cover with the moon until the sky had cleared up for it.

My mood was also fairly shit. Marco was meeting up with Thomas again tonight, and I’d planned to mope around at home in my underwear, but was instead called out as an emergency cab for Sasha and Connie who were too drunk from some pre-Halloween party to drive themselves home.

But at least I had time to myself to think, right? Time to think about... well, mostly him. I thought about how I couldn’t see his freckles in the stars that night because the sky was clouded with rain. How I couldn’t see his smile in the sun that wasn’t there. How I couldn’t hear his voice over the sound of the rain, tap, tap, tapping on the glass windows of my car.

I thought about how I couldn’t feel his arms around me, but how instead I was strangled by a seatbelt. How I felt only a wheel in my hands where they should be holding his. How my lips should be fitted with the comfort of his own, but instead they were cold and dry. How I missed him so much, even though he wasn’t mine to miss.

I was cold and tired and fucking hungry. So, when my car broke down where I thought was the middle of nowhere, I’d hit fucking rock bottom.

I spent a while on the side of the road kicking at the tires of my car, now oblivious of the rain taping my clothes to my skin. It dripped from my hair and into my eyes, but frankly, I didn’t give two shits any more.

It took me ten minutes of walking to find somewhere dry.

It was a restaurant, “Nanaba’s”, as in-the-middle-of-nowhere as my car was. From the outside, it seemed to be pretty damn packed, but it was my only option.

The fairy-like ‘ding’ from the bell sounded as I opened the door and was welcomed into the restaurant by the hard hit of warmth. Not only that, but my God did it smell good in there. Not to mention the dishes spread around the place. Curry and steak and soup and oh Jesus, was that _lobster?_

After standing under the hand dryer in the bathroom and awkwardly smiling at the other guys that came in and left, I joined the queue to get some food. And it didn’t take me long to spot him.

Of course he was here, of _course_ he was in this _exact_ restaurant.

Marco sat alone at a table near the door, only a few feet away from where I stood. He looked smart; he was wearing his blazer and everything. I think it was the same one he wore when I was with Mina, when I first started feeling... _something_ for him.

He was... _alone._

What was I supposed to do? Should I call his name? Should I just go over to him? Or is that rude? Maybe he was still waiting for Thomas.

Yeah, maybe, but right now he was alone.

“Hey, Marco!” I blurted, before I’d realised quite what I was doing. His head whipped around, but he didn’t see me. Instead he scratched his head and turned back to the menu. He’d looked hopeful. Probably thought it was Thomas.

“M-Marco!” I tried again, a little louder, and waved when he turned his head. He smiled at me (and it didn’t _look_ like he was hiding the feeling of rejection) and beckoned me over with one hand. I manoeuvred through the people between us until I was stood next to his table.

I’d already forgotten how beautiful he was.

“You can sit down if you’d like, I... I don’t think Tom’s going to show up any time soon.” I didn’t know what to say, so instead, I took the seat opposite him. “I mean, it was a bit of a risk inviting him anyway. I think we’re pretty much done after that argument.” I hadn’t realised that things were still patchy between them.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He smiled sadly and said,

“It’s fine, it was my fault, really. I should have... should have been more careful.” He looked remorseful, though not like he regretted whatever happened. Marco was a tough one to understand, but hey. I probably wouldn’t like him if he wasn’t difficult one way or another. They always seemed to be the ones that I fell for.

“You can tell me about it, if you want to,” I suggested, “it might make things easier if you get it off your chest.” Marco turned a pale shade of red.

“M-maybe one day.” I shrugged. That was weird. “Order, if you want to.” I put my hands together in mock pray to which he laughed, and called a waiter over to order steak. I didn’t need a menu to tell me what I wanted. (Marco got scampi).

“So – how come you’re out here? I didn’t think you’d know about this place.” I scoffed.

“I didn’t, my car broke down. How come you do, then?”

“Oh, the owner, Nanaba, is an old friend of my mom’s. I used to come here sometimes with her and dad.” I nodded.

“I see.” Kudos to the service, another waiter appeared with a bottle of wine very shortly after.

“Hello, sir. The wine you ordered?” He gestured the bottle to Marco, and he nodded and smiled politely. God, even his mannerisms were perfect.

“Ah! The other has arrived!” The waiter continued in a strong French accent, nodding towards me. “May I say that you are a uh, _couple parfait?”_ I raised one eyebrow to the waiter, turned to Marco who shrugged, and then both of us turned back to the waiter. He laughed. “ _Perfect couple!”_

 _“_ Oh! No, we uh, we’re not... not together,” I interrupted. (Though it wasn’t like I didn’t want us to be).

“Yeah, we... we’re not.” Marco coughed uncomfortably. My chest ached.

“My apologies, Sir. Though it is a shame. _Le couple brille comme les étoiles,_ do you not?” There was a moment of silence, during which the waiter looked expectantly between Marco and I.

“I’m sorry; neither of us can speak French,” I informed him, a little surprised that he hadn’t picked up on that already. He chuckled again.

“It means ‘ _the couple shines like the stars_.’ It is a shame, oui, that you are not together. The moon and sun themselves – I see them in you gentlemen. You cannot have one without the other, no?” He winked in our general direction. “You are meant to be. _Couple parfait!”_ He put the bottle on the table, bowed slightly, and disappeared into the depths of the restaurant. I hoped that I wasn’t blushing as much as Marco, though I knew that if anything, I was blushing even more. My cheeks were on fire.

“I feel like we could have saved ourselves there if one of us spoke French.” Marco laughed and slouched a little, falling backwards in his chair. Our knees brushed underneath the table and I could feel the spark of electricity burning through me. I held my breath until his knee moved away from mine, but I had to face my fear of oxygen because he didn’t. Just his knee touching mine made my heart freeze.

We fell into silence, neither of us looking at the other. Or at least I thought that, until I looked up and caught him staring at me. He blushed red. I blushed red.

“W-what?” I asked, my words stumbling out of my mouth. Fuck. His head was facing down towards his lap, but his eyes were staring up at me. He shook his head.

“It’s nothing.” I made the boldest move I’d made in a long time, and the boldest move I’d _ever_ made towards Marco. I stretched my hand across the table and held his. I held my breath as I did it, and I expected him to flinch away, but he didn’t. In fact, he turned his hand upside down and slotted his fingers into the spaces between mine. My heart skipped a beat. Or three.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” I told him, and he nodded, squeezing my hand tighter.

“I know, it’s just... well, kinda embarrassing. I’ll probably tell you eventually.” I nodded. That was good enough for me.

“Okay.”

For fifteen minutes or so, we talked about nothing and everything. The unimportant things in life. We talked about Marco’s book that he was writing, I asked how it was going and he gave me a run through of what was happening. I actually sounded really good. We talked about my music, although it was brief, because I changed the topic when he asked me about the song I was currently writing again.

We talked about how his family knew the owner of the restaurant (and I pretended to forget the names of his sisters), and we talked about mine and how I didn’t have any siblings for him to forget the names of.

We talked about nothing and we talked about everything. It was so nice.

I wished that every day could be like that.

The French waiter was back shortly with our food, one plate in either hand. He placed them in front of us and beamed when he saw our hands in the middle of the table. I blushed again. (I don’t think I’d ever blushed so much in one night).

“Aha! Sirs, you are not fooling anybody. It is like I said; _le couple brille comme les étoiles._ May I bring you more wine?”

“Yeah, please. The same again.” I intervened when Marco was about to say no.

“I hope you realise you’re paying for this,” he told me.

“What? Why?”

“Because your surname is still written on my back.” I laughed.

“Has it still not come off yet?” I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand that wasn’t holding his.

“It’s fading, but no. So you’re paying.” I nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” I looked up at the waiter and nodded. He beamed again.

“ _Â_ _mes sœurs,”_ he winked again and left us.

“He needs to stop doing that,” Marco said.

“Doing what?”

“Speaking French!” I laughed.

“I think he’s doing it to annoy us, if I’m honest with you.” Marco shook his head and smiled, then squeezed my fingers once more before letting go of my hand. This was my moment. I had to say something.

“So- Marco.”

“Hm?”

“Do we really _shine like the stars?_ Do we shnef-doop-re-loop like he says?” Marco smiled and picked up his knife and fork.

“And what do you mean by that?” I held my breath. It was now or never.

“Well, you know. A meal, and wine, it’s sort of like a date, isn’t it?” Silence.

“I guess so.”

“So... what I’m getting at is... is this... a date?” I tried to be smooth about it, and I winked at him to try to recover myself, but I knew that he wasn’t buying it. I was terrified. Afraid of rejection, that’s me. And boy, did I know that this was a mistake.

It was ironic, really. The man afraid of rejection had fallen for the man afraid of falling in love.

Marco shrugged, but I heard his voice catch with nerves.

“If you want it to be.”

What?

My mind froze. My body froze. My heart froze – stopped beating, I swear. I didn’t know what to say to that, I didn’t know what to _think_ about that. I couldn’t even think of _anything_ to say except for the three words that I’d wanted to tell him for so long now. But it was too soon for that. Instead, I let the silence consume us, our legs tangled underneath the table.

“Just to clarify,” Marco spoke up, “this is a date, right?” I smiled like a dork, and winked clumsily.

“If you want it to be.”

He kicked me and I groaned.

“I’m just going to take that as a yes.”

For the first time in months, my black and white world was fading back into colour. Sure, it was pale and pastels, but when you’ve been smothered in dark shades of grey for so long, even something as small as a pink orchid can revive you.

I’d tried so hard to bury it, but I’d forgotten that love was a seed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, "Âmes sœurs" means "Soul mates."  
> I DO NOT OWN THE SONG THAT JEAN IS WRITING! It's called "Can't stand it" and it's by "Nevershoutnever." You should check it out because it's a great song and it'll probably become important in this fic, so yeah. Background information.  
> I hope my French is right? I don't speak French so I was using translation websites, so I hope it's more or less translated correctly.  
> I'm sorry that this has taken so long to write too, oh man. 5,882 words in 5 weeks, that's like, nothing. I hope the ending doesn't seem too rushed, either. I wasn't really sure how to end this chapter :S  
> So yeah! Please do let me know what you think of this chapter by commenting or kudosing or whatever, it's greatly appreciated! Ily all an awful lot!<3


	12. Luminous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I used to think that falling for someone would feel like flying, but now I understood the reality. It felt like plummeting downwards towards something that you can’t escape, try as you might, through the rejection, through... whatever this was, whatever it was that was happening right now between Marco and I. Down, down, down. It was called ‘falling’ in love for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS!  
> Uploading this on christmas eve as a little gift to you all ^-^
> 
> *ALSO IMPORTANT!*  
> Where, in the fic, Jean starts to sing, I reccommend listening to 'Can't Stand It' By nevershoutnever, it'll help if you haven't already heard the song.  
> AGAIN, I don't own the song, I just like it for the fic :)

Flames are strange things. They’re so vibrant and beautiful, but so small, so simple. They’re nothing that should be fussed over, and yet we light candles just for the sake of making us happy - for the sake of a comforting flame. I think about flames a lot. They’re always dancing, flickering, surviving. Although, as much as we love flames, we have to be careful. Because it’s all too easy to get burnt.

It’s a beautifully unique feeling that you get when you come home from work to find your ‘partner’ in his pyjamas, curled up on the couch with a snoring, dribbling bulldog at his feet. It makes you feel sort of warm and fuzzy, and above anything, so damn lucky. I guess I felt kinda guilty for not telling him about me and his sisters, but... Heck, we were doing too well for me to screw it up with that. It had been two weeks since our accidental date. We weren’t officially boyfriends, but let’s face it, we may as well have been. Oh, and no kisses just yet. Sorry to break it to you.

“Hey, Jean”

“Heya, darlin’.” Marco snorted as I walked into my room to dump my coat on my bed.

“Are you ever gonna stop calling me that?”

“Hmm,” I pretended to contemplate, “Nah, probably not.” And I could hear that little fucker smiling. I knew that he liked me calling him that, as much as he denied it.

I changed into my pyjamas, grabbed a blanket from the pile on my floor and walked back out into the living room to throw it over Marco’s head.

“Thank you, that’s just what I needed to see the TV better,” came the muffled voice.

“Sorry,” I laughed, “you want hot chocolate?”

“Ooh yeah, that sounds good,” So I opened the packets and began to make them. “How was work?”

“It was alright, Sasha and Connie were teasing me about my crush on you as per usual.”

“No surprise there. When exactly do you plan to tell them about us?” I sighed, leaning back on the counter, and ran one hand through my undercut. It was getting long again.

“Soon, probably. I just don’t exactly trust them all that much with this sort of thing.” The microwave pinged, and I poured the hot chocolate into two mugs, one of them chipped.

“Yeah, I guess. So who knows, then? Reiner, Bert... is that it?”

“I thought you told that Armin kid?”

“Oh, yeah. And Armin. Then that’s it, right?” I nodded.

“Mhm.”  I balanced his hot chocolate carefully on the edge of the coffee table so that it was in reach, keeping mine in my hand, and joined Marco underneath the blanket after I kicked Fleetwood off.

“Shit, your toes are freezing,” I complained when he pressed his feet against my bare legs.

“That’s your fault for not wearing longer pyjamas, it is November.”

I shushed him, and stopped complaining. His feet soon warmed up, anyway.

“You know who I got a text from this morning?” I raised my eyebrows at him from over my mug as I slurped, gesturing for him to continue. “Thomas Wagner. He asked me if I was currently seeing anyone, it came as a bit of a shock to be honest.” I felt a weird sort of... well, pride to be with Marco now, especially after hearing that Thomas was still interested. Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a prick. So shoot me.

“And what did you say?” I asked cheekily. Grinning from behind the mug, I winked at him. Marco slapped my bicep.

“Oh, shut up. I said ‘sort of, sorry.’” Wow.

“Really? ‘Sort of, sorry’? What are you, twelve? You should have said that you’ve moved on and found the man of your dreams and that you want his adopted children.” We both laughed.

“Hey, I’m not that mean. And children, Jean? I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, dear.” My ears grew hot. I didn’t mean to say that – at least, not about us. I just meant to make him jealous, not for Marco to think that – agh.

“I didn’t mean tha-” Marco put his index finger against my mouth.

“Shush. Don’t worry about it, I think it’s cute.” Fuck, my ears were burning. In a desperate attempt to change the subject, I looped back around to Thomas.

“So what actually happened between you guys? You never told me, in the end.” Marco turned a bright shade of red.

“Well that’s because it’s really embarrassing. Like, really really.” I chewed my lip and looked down at my lap. Maybe... Just maybe I could beat him at the embarrassing game.

“What if I showed you something really embarrassing, too?” We met eyes again.

“What if?” I nodded. “Then maybe I’d tell you.” I picked up his hand and absentmindedly started to play with his fingers – a habit I’d gotten into recently.

“But you go first.”

“Why should I?”

“Because...” I sighed. “My guitar’s still in my room.” Marco’s uncertain frown collapsed, breaking into the fucking dorkiest grin he’d ever given me.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. But if you breathe a word of this, I’ll have to kill you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, tracing my finger over my chest in a cross-my-heart manner.

“Okay.” He shuffled around so that we were facing each other, his hand still sandwiched between mine, and he took a deep breath. “Right. Okay. So we’d been to the bar and I was pretty drunk-”

“Was this the time you accidentally told me and Reiner you were gay?” He frowned and bit his lip.

“Not sure, might have been.” I nodded. “Anyway, so I was drunk, but he was still pretty much sober. So we went back to his and he started getting cuddly and suggestive, and I panicked because I didn’t want to do that with him. I was never really into him all that much, frankly. So I tried to change the topic, and the first thing that I thought of was uh, well it was you.” He looked up at me, and his eyebrows were pulled together. Me? I swallowed hard.

“Keep going.” My voice broke.

“R-Right. So the first thing that I thought of as a topic of conversation was you. And we were talking and – remember that I was drunk as hell – I started saying things like ‘You know who’s a good guy? Jean.’ And ‘I really like Jean, he’s great. Like, really really.’” I was smiling pretty hard by this point. “And Tom asked me ‘well, you don’t really like him, do you? Like, not in that way right? You like me, don’t you?’ Or something along those lines, and apparently, I shook my head and told him that I did not in fact like him in that way, but that I actually liked you. Naturally, he didn’t take it all that well.” He looked up at me and gulped. “So yeah.” I couldn’t fucking stop smiling. All this time he’d been with Thomas, and he’d liked me all along.

"C’mere,” I muttered, putting my mug back on the coffee table. I leant forward, the blanket falling from my chest, and wrapped my arms tightly around Marco. I pulled him close to my chest, and my heart beat started to pound rapidly when his did the same. I hadn’t quite come to grips yet that there was actually something happening between us. It was all still so surreal. I was so, so fucking lucky.

“You know, I liked you the whole time you were dating him.” He pulled away slightly so that our foreheads were touching. Déjà vu.

“Really?” I nodded slightly, slowly.

“Mhm, and I had to watch you from afar because you were with a blonde twat that wasn’t me. I wanted to be your blonde twat.” Marco laughed his hearty, warm laugh. It was quiet and soft, and it sounded like warm tea and blankets and cuddles when you’re cold. It sounded like comfort and heat and a fireplace. It sounded like home. “I know, I’m such a Romeo,” I teased. Marco shook his head.

“No, the story of Romeo and Juliet ends in death, I’d rather ours didn’t. I want a happy ending.”

“What; like a video game?” I was joking, but Marco’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah! Exactly! Don’t be my Romeo, Jean. Be my Mario.” I laughed and cracked a real, genuine smile. The things this guy did to me. I wondered how I’d ever gone twenty one years without him, when I was so in lo- so affectionate for him after only two weeks.

“You better save me in your phone as that,” he chuckled, and I felt him bobbing up and down with the noise.

“Done and done,” and he pulled away to do just that. My forehead was cold. “Okay, mister,” He began again, after sitting back down, bolt upright, in front of me. “If I’m not mistaken, I do believe you have a song to play me.” I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Do I have to?”

“Oi! Yes! That was the deal.” I slumped forward and swung my legs over the edge of the couch.

“Alright, okay, I’m going.” I stood up.

“Good.”

“See? Look, I’m going.” I took one step forward.

“Jean.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” I walked to my room with Marco’s faint chuckling behind me, and returned shortly with my guitar and a pick in one hand, and three paper sheets of chords in the other. Marco was still smiling at me.

“When you’re ready.” I poked my tongue out at him.

“Don’t rush the musician.” My heart was racing and I realised that this was a mistake. It was too soon for this. Was this too much? For me – for him. Was I going to scare him off?

Too late to back out now.

I strummed and coughed, my heart beat was fast. So, so fast. I closed my eyes and composed myself. I took a deep breath, and I played.

“Baby, I love you, I never want to let you go...”

As I played through the song, I couldn’t look at Marco's face. I had no idea how he was reacting – probably smiling, but I couldn’t risk looking. Not until the song was over. I was so fucking cheesy, and I’d only realised this as I played for him.

I looked anywhere but his face. I mostly focused on my fingers on the strings, or staring at the paper with the chords, despite the fact that I knew it by heart. I looked at my strumming hand, even at the sleeping dog on the floor. Just anywhere, anywhere that wasn’t Marco’s face.

“-No, I can’t stand it.” I played the final chord, and by now, my hands were shaking so violently and my heart was pounding so furiously that I couldn’t breathe. I closed my eyes. The thing that worried me most was... Marco wasn’t responding.

I took a deep breath, and looked up.

He was completely spaced out, staring at a spot just to the left of my head. He was silent. He wasn’t moving. But his heart was beating so fast that when I looked at his chest and focused enough, I could see it moving, rising and falling quickly to the rhythm. Boom. Boom. Boom. Like a kick-drum behind his rib cage.

“M-Marco?” For a moment longer, he still said nothing, and the panic began to set in. What had I done? His sharp intake of breath was loud enough to be a scream, the room was so quiet. So unnervingly quiet.

“You... Love me?” His eyes moved slowly from where they were staring to meet mine instead. And then I realised what I’d done wrong.

Shit.

I’d completely forgotten Marco’s worst fear. It was the fear that he had told me about in confidence on the rooftop. The fear that he’d bottled up and tried to rise above, but it had always pulled him back down. The fear that was tearing me apart from the inside. The fear that was falling in love.

I couldn’t lie to him. After that song, after everything, I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t feel how I did.

“Not quite.” I paused and bit my lip. “But... I think I’m getting there.”

The silence continued, the only sound being our combined breathing, gulping and occasionally one of us taking a louder breath, almost speaking, but never getting around to forming the words. That is, apart from the beating of my heart in my ears, in my throat, in my head, everywhere. Always everywhere. But that had been there so long now that I could look past it. My heart beat had become the silence.

I had to say something. I couldn’t keep going like this.

“Look Marco, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t.” I didn’t. “Please, just don’t. Don’t worry about it. I...” He swallowed, and the pain in his eyes transferred to me. When he was hurt, I was hurt. When he felt anything, I felt it too. I was so close to loving him. I used to think that falling for someone would feel like flying, but now I understood the reality. It felt like plummeting downwards towards something that you can’t escape, try as you might, through the rejection, through... whatever this was, whatever it was that was happening right now between Marco and I. Down, down, down. It was called ‘falling’ in love for a reason.

I looked down at my lap.

“I really am sorry.”

“No, don’t. I just have to think about... some stuff.” And with that, he stood up, and went to his bedroom, closing his door behind him. I slid downwards so that I was lying down, and I threw one helpless arm over my eyes.

Well done, Jean. He was finally yours, and you’ve lost him.

* * *

Two days came and went and I was starting to go mad without him. I’d become so attached to so much about him, and I missed it all. All of his quirks and subtle traits were hidden from me again, and I could feel him slipping out of my grasp like melting snow. Greetings of hugs and pecks on the cheek had been replaced by paper smiles and brief nods. His bedroom door was always closed now, the way that it hadn’t been for a while. I was losing him, more and more each day.

After the third day, (and technically on the fourth) I really couldn’t take it anymore. I missed him so much, and I craved to just speak to him again. I’d fucked up, and I hated myself for it. I knew it was too soon for the song. Even though I felt the way that I did, he was also my best friend, so it sort of felt like I was losing two people – the two most important people.

I was losing sleep over him, over myself for being such a thoughtless twat. It was at 3:42am that I flipped out, going insane, and confined in Reiner. Again.

To: Reiner | 3:42am

I’m going to die alone.

I rolled around on my bed for a couple of minutes feeling sorry for myself until he replied.

From: Reiner | 3:44am

       What’s happened now? And why are you awake?

To: Reiner | 3:44am

       He still won’t talk to me, and why do you think, Sherlock?

From: Reiner | 3:45am

       Sorry, & have YOU tried talking to HIM?

To: Reiner | 3:45am

       Well no, but I miss him like crazy

From: Reiner | 3:46am

       Go talk to him, he probably feels the same way.

I seriously doubted it.

I thought about it – maybe, just maybe, he’d forgiven me. I debated with myself for a while as to whether I could really justify waking Marco up at 3:46am. By 3:47, I’d decided that at a time like this, I really could.

I hastily shoved my slippers onto my feet and left my room to cross our small apartment to Marco’s, not bothering to swap my (by this time, replaced) glasses for contacts. He was going to find out about those eventually, anyway.

I hesitated outside his door, my hand poised ready to knock. Should I really be doing this? I closed my eyes, and before I’d even decided, I was already knocking. Three times in one go. I bit my lip as soon as I’d done it, realising that it was four in the fucking morning and he really wasn’t going to take me back at this rate.

But I’d lost all control over my right hand, it seemed, and pretty quickly I was pressing down on the door handle and slowly going inside. Marco’s bed was unmade and empty.

I figured that maybe he’d gone to the toilet, but instead of checking or taking the opportunity to go back to my room, I waited. Like a loser, I waited for him to come back so that I could talk to him and tell him that I missed him and that I was sorry and that I wouldn’t love him if he didn’t want me to – if he wasn’t ready. Ten minutes of waiting passed. Nobody takes that long to piss.

I checked the bathroom and when that too was empty, there was only one place left that he could have been.

I opened the balcony doors and stepped out into the November air. My exposed arms felt frozen and I shivered, and the wet floor from earlier rain dampened my socks. I hopped up onto the ledge and again onto the roof. A thick layer of fog surrounded me and the ground beneath my feet was crisp with frost. I spun in a whole circle looking for Marco, and spotted him over on the other side of the building, leaning on the brick support of an antenna with a blanket wrapped around him. I walked over to him slowly, and he only saw me through the fog when I was about five feet away.

“Uh, hey, Marco.”

“Hey, Jean.” The most acknowledgement he’d given me in days. We were met with silence, so I sat down next to him and took the opportunity to start speaking.

“Look, I really want to talk to you about-”

“I don’t want-”

“You don’t have to talk to me, just let me talk to you.” His response was only more silence. “Okay, I want... Gah, oh God, okay.” I ran my hands down over my face and rested them with my thumbs cupping my chin. I should have thought through what I was going to say before I came out to find him.

“Okay,” I started, “Okay, I’m just gonna wing this.” I paused, prepared myself, and went for it. “I’m sorry. I knew that you weren’t ready and I went and said it anyway, the ‘L’ word, and I’m sorry. I don’t want to rush things and I know that you probably don’t either, I want it all to happen naturally, it’s just that, well...” I paused again and turned to look at Marco, who was staring me right in the eyes. I said the rest without breaking away. “This is what’s natural to me. I’ve never felt about anyone before the way that I feel about you and I don’t want to screw it up – really, I’ve done too much of that already. I want to say it so bad, but I won’t. I won’t do it, for you. I’d do anything for you, Marco. I swear I would, and I’m so sorry. I’m... I’m so sorry for scaring you.”

I turned away from him and looked down at my hands, twirling my thumbs together.

“I’m sorry, Marco.” I looked up at the sky, at the stars, and let my head hang backwards. It was so much less painful to see the replicas, the shimmering dots, than the real freckles on his skin.

“Hey... Jean?” I looked down, and turned to face him.

“Yeah?” His eyes were the darkest I’d ever seen them, and they reflected the silver light of the moon above us, except they were so much more than that. He was so much more. I could never compare anything, no matter how valuable or expensive, to Marco. He was his own star, his own galaxy, his own existence. He was too perfect for a guy like me.

“Jean, stop thinking, stop apologising. Just... stop. For me.” The space between us shrank gradually, and then his lips were on mine. My heart stopped, but at the same time it was beating faster than it ever had before. There was a lump in my throat, or maybe that was actually my heart, having been beating so fast that it jumped right up.

He tasted sweet. Like honey and spices and home, and as his arm twisted around my back I slid my hand up into his hair and I smiled against his lips, trying to tell him that if he didn’t love me, this was plenty good enough for now.

It was in that moment that I knew what love was. What love is. Love is colour, and I felt it, saw it, as we kissed for the first time. I’d been living in a black and white world since I’d left Hannah, and slowly, since Marco had accepted me, I’d been fading back into the painted world of reality. It had been pale up until now. Even before Hannah, the colours had only been subtle. But now? Now it was a whole new story, a whole new adventure. The world was luminous, and we were unstoppable.

I had fallen in love with Marco Bodt.

He pulled away, and I already missed him.

“Come back,” I moaned, and Marco laughed, his breath warm against my face.

“Come here,” He sighed, “You’re going to catch a cold like that.” He proceeded to wrap his blanked around me as well as him, which forced us to sit closer together. I liked that. There was silence as my head rested on his shoulder and we stared out over the field opposite our apartment block, over Trost, over the world. I was on top of it all, and nothing, no one, was going to pull me back down. I’d been down there for far too long.

“Hey, Jean?”

“Mm?”

“It’s my turn to ask you something.” I sat up to look at him better, and with him so close to my face it was incredibly difficult to resist kissing him again, especially now that I’d done it once. “How long have you been wearing glasses?” I snorted.

“Of all the things that you could have asked me.”

“No, seriously, I’ve never seen you wear glasses before.” I laughed and cuddled closer to him again.

“Since I was about fourteen years old. I’ve always worn contacts, I don’t like wearing glasses.” I felt him shake his head against mine.

“I like them.” I blushed. “You look really cute.” I blushed more.

“Uh, thanks, so are you, you know.” He shook his head again, and I sat up to look at him. He poked my cheeks and smiled. That beautiful, beautiful smile. So I smiled.

“This is what I mean, Jean! Look at you. Heck, I don’t deserve you.” My smile dropped, and my heart sank. Marco, a literal piece of shit could deserve me. Not even a thousand stars would deserve a nebula like you.

“Don’t you dare,” I told him, “Don’t, you’re worth so much. You deserve so much more than me.” He shook his head for the third time that night, and looked me dead in the eyes.

“I don’t, Jean. I’m dirt.” Because of how high my heart had just been, it was rather ironic how low it was now. I took his hand closest to me in mine and ran circles over it with my thumb.

“Well then so be it. But I think you’re forgetting that dust and dirt is the entire world, Marco. Everything is just dust and dirt. The earth, the soil, the pink orchids on our kitchen table – dust and dirt. You’re the entire world, Marco, my world. I need you.” He tried to hide it, but I saw the smile crack on his lips.

“Then if I’m the dirt, what about the dust?”

“I’ll be the dust. Whatever you can’t be, I’ll be, because I lo- shit, there I go again. Sorry. Because I care about you so damn much, so we can be the world together if neither of us can do it alone.” His smile came on properly then, and so mine returned too.

“I... yeah. Sorry, I... mm. Thank you.”

“I don’t believe you, darlin’.” He looked back up at me, genuinely worried, but I smiled.

“Well then what can I do to show you?” I bit my lip and stared at his, pretending to think of an answer that I already knew.

“You could kiss me again.” And he did, and he tasted sweet all over again and his scent was all around me. My hand was back in his hair and he held me close just like the first time, and it was the same again, just like the first kiss.

That’s love. When every kiss is as good as the first.

The heat flowed through me and the colour sparked from him. I felt warmest where we touched, where the colour began, from Marco. I loved him, fuck, I was so in love with him. And I risked it all again because there was no way that I couldn’t tell him. Not now – not ever again. I broke the kiss.

“Marco, I...” I rested my forehead on his, and looked at his closed eyelids. “I know that you’re afraid, but I can’t do this anymore without saying it. And I know I’ve hinted at it and I know that you know, but I... I have to say it for myself. I have to say it out loud.” His face scrunched up, so I took a deep breath. I risked him, my everything, on three words that I couldn’t keep inside for any longer.

“Marco... I love you. I’m in love with you. And I’m sorry, but... I have to say it. I can’t lie to myself anymore.”

From within the silence that followed, the only sound was Marco’s long, slow, exhale. He opened his eyes and looked back at me, and I saw the pain mixed with the longing and the hope that he felt.

“That’s not what I’m afraid of, Jean, don’t you see?” I froze, confused.

“Then... what is it?” He visibly held his breath and tried his sentences a few times before he could make out the words.

“I’m not afraid because you love me, Jean. I’m afraid because... I think I’m falling for you, too.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooooosh, there it is. They've kissed and Marco's falling for him too and asdfghjkl he's so scared, poor darling baby.  
> I also want to point out that when my sister proof read this for me, she fell of her chair when she got to the last few paragraphs. I nearly cried, it was hysterical.  
> I hope you're all satisied! As always, please leave comments and kudos or whatever to let me know if you're enjoing The Fifth Bodt, and I'll see you when it's time for chapter 13!
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS! (And if you don't celebrate Christmas, I hope that life is treating you well!)


	13. Armour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were going to break either way. I was trying to delay it. I was scared. I’m in love with you.

I used to think that Hannah Bodt had killed me. Broken my bones, scarred me, burnt me to ashes and then sprinkled them over my own grave. I used to think that she’d broken me, made me incapable of loving.

I was wrong. I had only been bruised. Bruised badly, yeah, but only bruised all the same. And as my bruises had healed, the rest of me got tougher too. ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ and all that. My bones were no longer made of bone, but they were steel. My flesh could not be burned to ashes, as it was now pure iron.

My heart, though... Now that was something that hadn’t really changed. I’d encased it in armour, given it a sword and shield, but underneath all that it was still as vulnerable as ever before. If someone could get through the armour, that was it.

And the thing was; someone had.

That idiot with the middle parting and the breathtaking eyes - the brown ones with golden flecks that I could stare at all day. The nerd who was writing a novel for his living that I still hadn’t gotten around to reading. The pretty-boy with the nebula of freckles that ran from his right cheek to his left, all the way across the barrier that was his nose in the middle, too. The freckles that reflected the sky above us when we finally kissed two days ago. The doofus that I’d served in Starbucks for weeks before I even spoke to him properly, the one who dated a blonde twat that wasn’t me. The one who made me realise that I was about as “straight as a rainbow slinky”, in the words of Reiner. The one who... who might actually love me too.

Yeah, that one. And I was perfectly okay with that.

* * *

**_Dear Sir/Madam._ **

**_I am writing this email to you with a file attached, that within it, holds an audio file to a song that I have written entitled ‘Can’t Stand it’. It would mean a great deal to me if you were to have a look and maybe even respond with an opinion, although I am sure that you get many of these a day, and so I will not be surprised if I do not get said response. I have worked on this song for a month or so, so the version enclosed may not be the final draft, though it should be pretty close to it. If you approve of it, perhaps you could even inform me of an artist whom I could sell it to._ **

**_Yours sincerely,_ **

**_Jean Kirschtein, 21, Trost._ **

I read the email at least twenty times over with my mouse lingering above the ‘send’ button, until I couldn’t stand the sound of my own voice in my head any longer, and slammed my finger down onto the mouse. A friend of mine had given me that email address a few years ago, and told me that if I was ever finding it hard to sell off a song, that I should contact them because they’re pretty damn good at what they do. But they get a lot of emails in, he’d said, so “Don’t be surprised if they don’t get back to you”.

I tucked my feet up to join me on the sofa, wedged into the crack between the cushion and the arm, stuck a hand into my not-yet-brushed hair and stared at the screen on the coffee table before me, the message ‘your email has been sent’ in menacing, judgemental letters.  
What if they didn’t like it? What if I’d made a complete idiot of myself? And what if, the most likely thing to happen, they thought I was a girl, because of all the male pronouns in the song? I probably should have changed those to female before I sent it, I mean-

No, no I shouldn’t. The song was for Marco, and it was going to stay that way. It was his song, my song to him, and I wasn’t going to change it around for some industry, or at least not in my version. It would erase our story from it and it would just become another meaningless love song, and I didn’t want that. Not for me. Not for Marco.

The time at the bottom of the screen read 12:23 when Marco got home from a meeting with a publisher about his book, wearing a blazer and a tie. (Fucking hell, that was a good look for him). He closed the door and groaned, and placed his head against the frame with his eyes closed.

“...How’d it go?” I asked, pretty sure of the answer. He turned and came to sit next to me on the sofa, and I slammed the lid of my laptop closed before he got over.

“They didn’t want it,” he sighed, and I looped my arm around his shoulders.

“You’ll get there baby, JK Rowling got let down by... I dunno, a lot of publishers, and now look where HP’s at.” He sighed again and nuzzled into my shoulder, so I kissed his forehead and ran my thumb in circles over his upper arm.

“I guess. Turns out I need to work on presenting it too, though. It went pretty badly. I kept forgetting the name of the main character.” I laughed and he hit me gently.

“Yeah, that probably didn’t help much.” We sat there for a little while until Marco sat up and swung his legs over the front of the sofa. 

“Hey, I think it’s about time you met some people, too, so I want to invite them round for dinner tonight. That okay with you?” I shrugged and nodded.

“Yeah, I can’t see why not. Who is it? Your parents or something?” He winced briefly, but carried on, hoping that I didn’t notice. I pretended that I hadn’t.

“...Maybe not just yet. I want you to meet my sisters, though.”

Oh.

Oh, _fuck_.

I swallowed hard and looked away from him, trying to think of any possible way of directing the conversation away from me meeting his sisters. One of them would be bad enough, but all four of them at the same time? There was only one way that this could go, and that was badly.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Marco blushed red and looked down at his feet.

“You know, it’s the next step and all that.” Fucking dork.

I briefly forgot what I was getting myself into because of him being all cute, and suddenly I was nodding, actually giving him consent to introduce me to his sisters that I already knew. Pretty damn well, actually. He grinned widely and gave me a tight, squeezy hug before walking away from me and into his bedroom, his fine ass glaring right at me.

“Thanks so much Jean, I’ll ring them now!”

I looked down over the arm of the sofa at Fleetwood, who was once again dribbling on the carpet. I scratched him behind his ear for a little while.

“I’m in some deep shit, Fleet.” With that, he got up and plodded off to my bedroom. I wished that I could do that too.

* * *

Six o’clock rolled around and Marco was fretting in the kitchen over “What if we don’t have enough food?” and “What if you don’t like them? Oh God, what if _they_ don’t like _you_?” and “How much cutlery do we have? Do we have enough cutlery? _JEAN DO WE HAVE ENOUGH CUTLERY?_ ”

When he made me promise not to make any dick jokes at the table for the fourth time, I nearly lost it.

“Marco- Oi! Marco! He- Hey be careful with that- it’s on the window sill- MARCO! STOP FOR _ONE_ _SECOND_!” Marco stopped and slammed his back against the cupboard.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just really want this to go well.” I gulped hard. Yeah, that was never going to happen. I approached him slowly, like he was a motion-sensitive alarm.

“What time are they getting here?” He shrugged and put one hand to his forehead.

“In like, half an hour.” I gulped again. Holy shit.

“Okay, well you go and get ready and I’ll keep an eye on whatever’s in the oven-”

“-It’s that chicken curry thing-”

“-Yeah okay great,” I waved it off, “just go get yourself ready, and I promise I won’t burn the house down.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. I won’t take too long.” I smiled at him and he went to change. And then the panic began to kick in.

Holy fucking shit, what had I gotten myself into? Maybe I could work around it, get them to pretend they didn’t know me. Maybe... just maybe. Agh, shit.

I found myself going into housemaid mode for the next fifteen minutes or so. The table wasn’t straight. Fleetwood was licking something off the table. I wiped up said thing. Check on the food. Brush my hair. Swap my glasses for lenses. Pee. Check the food. Check on Marco. Check the time. Check the food.

At six twenty, Marco finally came out of his room.

“TEN MINUTES! Jean, _please_ tell me everything’s sorted.” I smirked, but inside I was panicking just as much as he was. Probably more.

“Everything’s fine, babe. It’s gonna be fine. I promise.” I pulled him into a hug and kissed his forehead, and I felt his body relax a little from under my arms.

“Okay. Thank you.” We stood there for a minute, and then he tensed again. “The food! How’s the food?” I sighed and let him do his thing. Panicking seemed to be his way of being comfortable, if that makes any sense at all.

Ten minutes passed of Marco’s foot tapping against the wooden floor and a bulldog growing heavier and heavier in my lap. The doorbell rang, and I jumped. Really hard. I stood up, walked to the door, and reached for the handle.

“You got this?” Marco asked. I nodded. If I got there first, maybe I could sign language them something to make them not mention the past.  
I took a deep breath and opened the door. Sure enough, there they were - The four Bodt sisters. On the left was the youngest, Sarah, and next to her were the triplets. Rachel, Louise, and of course, Hannah. It was sort of funny, actually. They all pulled the exact same expression at the exact same time. I shook my head and swiped my hand across my throat a couple of times.

‘I’ll explain later,’ I mouthed. ‘I don’t know you, you don’t know me. Got it?’ They all nodded.

“Hey! I’m Jean, nice to meet you,” I beamed, and they smiled, said hello, and walked in. Hannah looked significantly more awkward than the others.

“Oh, except Sarah and Rachel,” I whispered. “He knows about you.” They nodded again and Sarah blushed.

“Why only us?”

“I’ll explain later. Get in.”

I closed the door incredibly slowly, and by this point I was shitting myself. I had to just go with it, that’s what we were all going to have to do. Bar Marco, of course. He was oblivious to the entire situation.

I turned around to Marco hugging each of his sisters in turn with exchanges of “I haven’t seen you in ages, Louise!” and “Jesus, Sarah, you got tall.”

“I’m still shorter than you, Marco.”

“Well yeah, but you’ve always been _tiny!_ ” That and you’re freaky tall, Marco. Not Bertholdt-tall, but at least Reiner-tall. Wait, scratch that. Not as tall as Reiner. He was me-tall, plus one.

I nodded my head at Sarah and smiled, making sure to acknowledge her and Rachel first as they were the only ones that I was supposed to know.

“Burrito boy, right?” She said, acknowledging me in return. I grimaced and nodded.

“Yeah. Shit, I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.” Her laugh was similar to Marco’s, but more powerful, and there was more exposure to her body. She curled outwards rather than inwards. Not as cute.

“There are some things a girl doesn’t forget, and having a burrito shoved down her shirt at thirteen is definitely one of them.” She shook her head, but she was smiling as she flopped down onto the sofa. I greeted Rachel next.

“Uh, hey. Nice to see you.” She nodded and scratched the back of her neck.

“Yeah, you too. Look, I owe you an apology.” I caught a glimpse of Marco looking at us from over her shoulder, listening in.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I know it was a while ago now, but I still feel kinda bad. I robbed you of your friends, and I... I’m sorry for that. I mean, especially if you live with my brother now, we’re gonna have to get along. So, let’s just forget it, yeah?” I smiled gratefully. It was pretty nice of her to actually try with me. I nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be nice.” She extended her hand out to me.

“Well then, I’m Rachel Bodt, nice to meet you.” I shook it.

“Jean Kirschtein.”

“You guys are cheesy as fuck,” Sarah piped up from where she lounged across the sofa, her hand already in a bag of Doritos that she got from who knows where. It occurred to me then that we only had one sofa between six people, and the smallest person here was taking up the entire thing.

“That’s only the start of it,” I laughed, and she smiled. She reminded me of Sasha.

A Bodt tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around to find myself nose-to-nose with Marco. By the fact that he pulled away instead of kissing me (which he usually would) I assumed that his sisters didn’t know about us just yet. He coughed and rubbed a finger underneath his nose awkwardly, which made me smirk. He wanted to kiss me. I felt powerful.

“Jean, this is Louise and this is Hannah, they’re triplets with Rachel.” I smiled politely and shook their hands in turn.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jean if you didn’t guess already.” Marco was staring at me.

I wondered if I could make him pop a boner.

From here on out, that was my personal challenge. My distraction, if you will.

Hannah held onto my hand for a fraction of a second too long, and then dragged away just a little too quickly. It was a small thing, but noticeable, and in the situation that we were in, we really couldn’t afford noticeable.

I leaned on the sofa arm in a subtly-flirtatious position, and got kicked in the back by Sarah.

“My foot was there,”

“No it wasn’t,”

“Yeah it was, see?” With that, she rammed her heel into the bottom of my spine so that I was pushed forward, away from her foot’s resting place. “It wanted to get home.” I rubbed my lower back and frowned at her, and she laughed, shoving more Doritos into her mouth.

“Hey, Jean, could you ‘entertain’ them for a minute or something? I’ll start serving up; the curry should just about be finished.” I nodded at him until he was in the kitchen, humming absent-mindedly to himself. I stared at him for a few more seconds than I probably should have, admiring how delicate his hands were around the tray and how focused his eyes were. He was so damn happy – he couldn’t find out about me and his sisters. Not today and preferably not ever. I’d rather deal with the guilt than deal without him, thank you very much.

One of the girls behind me coughed, and I spun around on my heels. He should be out of earshot if we were quiet enough.

“Do you want to explain to us what the hell you’re doing here? Not that this isn’t awkward or anything, but this is really awkward.” Louise picked at her nails and didn’t make eye contact. I was on good terms with all of them apart from Hannah, but she was right, it was still really awkward.

Speaking of whom, Hannah was being really quiet. Too quiet. Noticeably quiet.

“Right. Yeah, okay.” I held my index finger and my thumb against my forehead and rubbed for a few seconds, frowning into the darkness cast by my hand.

“Long story short,” I began, dragging my hand away from my face, “neither of us could afford a flat to ourselves. We met at Starbucks when I was on my shift and one thing led to another and I ended up moving in with him. I had no idea he was your mystery brother until after I’d already unpacked, by which point it was way too late. Truth be told, I’m actually pretty fond of the guy.”

I saw absolutely no point in lying to them. Besides, they had no idea just how fond of him I was.

“Right, so, how does he know about us again?” Sarah asked, gesturing towards herself and Rachel. I pinched my nose and closed my eyes.

“It’s more or less because I freaked when I found out he was your brother and I needed an emergency excuse. Sarah was the one longest ago, so I figured it wouldn’t really matter to him. And Rachel, we were with a bunch of friends talking about first kisses and shit, so that’s how he knows about you.” It made us sound like a group of teenagers, gossiping about kisses and weird shit like that. Actually, when you’re friends with the people that we were friends with, that’s more or less what it’s like a lot of the time.

She nodded and I pursed my lips. How much was I going to have to clarify?

“Any more questions?” Of the four people stood before me, Hannah was the next to speak.

“Why are you so nervous about him finding out that you dated... these three?”

I shouldn’t care about a detail that small, but holy shit, wow. We date for just over a year, a goddamn _year_ , and she refuses to admit that we were together at all? I wasn’t the least bit interested in being with her any more, but when somebody has been a part of your life for that long, it still hurts like a bullet through the chest to be so blatantly rejected from their memory. I felt the ghost of her hand on my chest although it wasn't really there, pushing me backwards, pushing me over and onto the floor. I stood my ground, leaning against it. She wasn’t in charge of me any more.

“What makes you think I’m nervous?” I retorted, deciding for now that it was probably for the best to not mention ‘us’.

“The fact that you immediately silenced us when you opened the door, you think I’m stupid? You’re making it damn obvious! He’s gonna notice sooner or later! Fucking hell, Jean, you shouldn’t be here!”

“Hannah, shut up or he’s gonna hear you,” Rachel grabbed her arm and pulled it down and away from where it was reaching towards Marco. To her big brother. The one that she respected and loved and had no idea was dating her ex-boyfriend without her knowing.

Everything about this situation felt so wrong to me that it almost felt right.

They’d have to deal with it though – we all would. Marco had bought my heart and lost the receipt. Even if he wanted to get rid of it, he couldn’t. He could throw me out, I guess, but I’d still belong to him for my entire life.

Fuck, I’d belong to him for a hell of a lot longer than that.

I snapped back into the moment when Sarah clicked her fingers in front of my face.

“Well? She’s got a point, you know.” I swallowed hard, but the panic of what to say next was crawling up my throat and got stuck on my tongue.

“I-” I what? I knew damn well why Marco couldn’t know, but I couldn’t tell them that. If Marco hadn’t told them we were together, I sure didn’t have the right to. Hell, for all I knew, they didn’t even know he was gay.

“You..?” I couldn’t answer. I turned the conversation towards Hannah.

“What about you, huh? Dated me for that long and now you’re pretending it didn’t even happen?” Her eyes went wide in panic, darting around the room as she tried to think of some sort of excuse. Her mouth opened and closed a few times like a guppy as she desperately searched for words, and I realised something.  
I really, _really_ didn’t find her attractive in the slightest. In fact, in that exact moment, she looked sort of... _ugly_ to me.

I guess I was finally seeing the real her reflected on her skin.

She stepped closer to me, and her voice lowered to an even quieter whisper.

“Why did you have to go and say that?” I stepped back.

“Why are you so desperate to hide it?” She licked her lips before pressing them together in a neat line, and her shoulders tensed.

“I never told them.” Something in my chest lifted that I hadn’t realised was being held down. Something... something satisfactory about hearing her say it, something I’d known for such a long time. I looked over to the kitchen again to make sure that Marco was still oblivious, and he was, chopping away at some salad as a side dish that I knew I wouldn’t be eating. (Salad? Seriously? What the fuck?)

I turned back to Hannah and nodded, a smirk playing at my lips. I huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you had.” I took another step back and folded my arms, Louise, Rachel and Sarah back in on the conversation.

“So you’ve dated all four of us?” Five. I nodded. “What are we supposed to do? He only knows you’ve been with two of us-” three of you, “-and you still won’t tell us why you’re so afraid for him to find out. So, buddy, what do you want us to do?”

I chewed my bottom lip. It was a good question, really. What did I want them to do? Well, I think we all knew the answer.

“I want you to stay quiet about it. Please don’t ask me why, but I have my reasons. He can’t know. Not now, at least."  _Not when things are finally going right_.

“If you lot want to come over here and help me lay the table, that’d be great.” Marco sounded like he was our fucking mother.

“Yeah, yeah we’ll come over now,” and it took every ounce of my strength not to call him “baby”. I turned back to the Bodt sisters.

“Can you do that?” Three of them nodded and went to join Marco. Hannah, however, lingered.

“You nearly gave me away there, Kirschtein. I can’t make you any promises.” And she left.

What in the name of fuck was that supposed to mean?

Realising that everyone else was seated at the dinner table and I was still stood in the centre of the living room, I finally joined them, taking my seat opposite Marco. To tell you the truth, it was a miracle that six people could fit around the table.

I said thanks to Marco and picked up my knife and fork ready to eat when he jammed his heel onto my foot.

“Ouch, Marco what the f-” He gave me a stern glare.

“Hannah, you want to say grace?” Wait- what? But everyone just went with it, clasping their hands together and bowing their heads. Marco’s heel in my foot again suggested that I should do the same.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

A muttered chorus of “Amen”s surrounded me, and I contributed, still not entirely sure what was going on.

As far as I was aware, Marco wasn’t religious. But at the mention of it, some memory perked up in the back of my head about Hannah praying for me when I got sick and going to church on Sundays. I wondered if religion was a part of Marco that I didn’t know about.

There was a brief silence as I exchanged a look with Marco, and in his eyes was something of a mix between “just don’t say anything” and “I’ll tell you later”.

“Been a while since I heard from any of you,” he beamed, his expression changing like the flick of a switch. Conversation sparked up between the five of them, only occasionally dipping in myself to comment on something that Marco said. I learnt a lot about Marco’s sisters in a short time, how Sarah was going back to university after winter break to continue her study of animal sciences, how Louise had finally been let on the ice-hockey team (something twanged in my gut that made me ache inside a little. Despite everything, I sort of missed that sport). I learnt that Rachel was finally getting somewhere as a make-up artist and that Hannah was doing “just fine, thanks” with a shifty side-glance at me.

Marco was almost a different person around his sisters. There was something about him - and I couldn’t quite place it - that made him seem more on edge. He was laughing and relaxed, but at the same time I knew that at any moment something could trigger him, trigger something that was probably hidden at the bottom of his gut, away from anyone and away from me and, from the way his shoulders tensed occasionally and from the drained look in his eyes when he thought nobody was looking, away from himself. He was apprehensive around them. Uneasy. Tense.

Once the conversation had died down a little, an uncomfortable silence lay over the table, thick and heavy and suffocating like a blanket over my head. Something was building up that I didn’t know about. And that’s when I knew.

I knew that something was being kept from me - something was going to come up in conversation that nobody wanted to. I knew from the glances that the sisters shared with one another, and from Marco attempting to string words together on a rope that he couldn’t choke out. A sheet of glass was being held above us, balanced haphazardly and ready to drop.

I was about to start up a new conversation, ask Sarah about uni or something along those lines, but just as I was about to open my mouth, Marco began to talk. It was immediately apparent that it was the cause of the silence that was starting to pick at my seams.

“How’re things back home?” The glass sheet fell in slow motion, shattering over our heads as the shards darted into my skin. Into Marco’s skin. Into Hannah, Louise, Rachel and Sarah’s skin. They broke through the seams that the silence had begun to loosen, and I fell apart when I saw Marco’s face.  
He looked distraught.

Thick and heavy. Suffocating. The worst silence that I’d ever had to sit through.

“It’s alright,” Hannah began, before setting her knife and fork down on the plate and moving her hands toward her lap. “How about you? Are you... okay? Really okay, I mean.” Marco nodded.

“We all knew it was coming anyway, I can’t afford to not be okay.” Hannah nodded in return and thinned her lips into a line.

“Does he know?” Marco shook his head. Hannah nodded. Silence.

I ached all over. He didn’t trust me. My arms felt heavy by my sides as they slid off the table, and my feet became weighted down to the floor. I loved him. I loved him _so damn much_ , and he “almost” loved me too, but he didn’t trust me. For whatever reason, he didn’t trust me, and nothing had ever hurt so much before. I coughed and bit back salty cries, but my voice still cracked. I’d never been good at hiding my emotions. Wore my heart on my sleeve, Mom said.

“Do I know what?” Marco looked up at me, looked like he was about to explain, hesitant yet willing. But Hannah beat him to it. She stood up from her chair, capturing the attention of all others, and locked eyes with me directly.

“You know what, Jean? I’m _sick_ and _tired_ of you and your bullshit. You’re allowed your secrets, but he’s not allowed his? What gives you the _damn right_ to go poking your nose in where it pretty obviously isn’t welcome? You don’t tell him about the four of us, accidentally told him about two, but that’s not enough. You still tried to fucking hide it from him. So if you can have your secrets, why can’t he? The world isn’t pure. You have to build your fucking trust. You couldn’t trust him enough to tell him about dating the four of us, _so why should he trust you?_ ”

“But look what happened the last time I trusted someone!” I retort, “I walked in on her _fucking someone else!_ ” Somewhere in the midst of the argument, Sarah, Rachel and Louise announced that they were going to leave us to it. They apologised to Marco (Louise in particular) and left the apartment quietly and subtly. I didn’t notice until later.

“This isn’t about me!” she screeched, “This is abut you respecting my brother!” I stood up, ready to unleash hell, but Marco stood up with me.

“I think you should leave, Hannah.” Her neck whipped around to look at him, and they shared some sort of psychic-sibling message for a moment or two until she pursed her lips again, frowned, nodded, and the two of them walked towards the door. I remained at the table with my arms folded, anger burning up my throat. I wasn’t even sure what I was more angry about - the fact that she told Marco about my big secret, or the fact that she was right.

After a few minutes, the door closed. Marco stayed there with his back to me, his hand still firmly grasped around the handle.

"HB. The sharpie tattoo on your arm. Hannah Bodt, wasn't it?" I breathed out heavily.

"Yeah."

“All four of them?” I could hear the pain in his voice. I wanted to apologise, run up to him from behind and hold him tight against my chest. Pat down his hair and tell him that I was sorry, _so_ sorry, that I loved him and only didn’t mention it before because I didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want _this_ to happen. Instead, I was motionless.

“Yeah.” He sighed loud enough for me to hear it from across the room.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He finally turned around, and I realised that I’d been a fool for wanting him to look at me. It hurt so much more this way. I swallowed hard, but the thickness was still in my throat. I wasn’t sure that my voice was going to work, swollen and broken, but it did. I almost wished that it didn’t.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” And he snapped.

“You didn’t want to hurt me? _You didn’t want to hurt me?_ So what, you thought _lying_ to me was your better option?”

“Of course I didn’t! I-”

“No, let me speak. All you’ve done this evening is cause problems, and-”

“None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for you damned sister!”

“Don’t you _DARE_ bring Hannah into this, Jean!” I went silent, his poisonous glare stinging my eyes and seeping through my skin. He brushed one hand through his hair, and I can’t even begin to explain how much I wanted to sweep him into my arms and carry him to the sofa. Bring him ice cream and watch a movie with him and tell him that I was sorry. I couldn’t do that. I’d fucked up, and I knew it. “Look, I didn’t mean to shout, I just...” He bit his bottom lip. “This is between me and you, Jean. Why did you lie to me?”

_Because you were going to break either way. I was trying to delay it. I was scared. I’m in love with you._

“I already told you, I didn’t want to hurt you.” He huffed and folded his arms. “I don’t understand, you’re keeping something from me, too. What was that all about at the dinner table? The praying? Care to explain _that_ to me?” His huffing turned into a guffaw, and he glared at me like I was being totally absurd.

“ _That_ is a very different thing, Jean. For one thing, it doesn’t involve you. But this? They are my sisters! I’m pretty sure it’s my business, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” He ran a hand through his hair again and left it there, something he did when he was pissed off. I told him what had been on my mind.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” His face dropped to match mine, and his tone softened, just like that. I'd hurt him.

“Of course I trust you, damn it Jean, of course I do, but that’s a big thing to me that I don’t think I can talk about just yet. I’ve only just come to terms with it myself. Heck, I'm not sure that I have, really.” I couldn’t help it, I’m a selfish bastard I know, but I felt offended.

“But you can talk about anything with me Marco, I could help you come to terms with whatever it is, you kno-”

“Yeah, I know, but think about it Jean, _we barely even know each other!_ ” Anger burned within me that turned to offence, that turned to realisation, that turned to frustration, that turned to all out sorrow. I couldn’t admit it. But...

“Th- That’s not true! We know loads about each other!”

“Do we, Jean? Do we?” I couldn’t think of any words to say. He was right, we didn’t know each other at all.

“I’m sure if we-”

“What’s my middle name, Jean?” I... I didn’t know. I racked my brains, but there was nothing in there that satisfied the question. I was officially the shittest boyfriend in the world, if I could even count myself as that any more.

“Uhm,” I began, swallowing hard, “Michael?” He snorted.

“At least you tried.”

“You don’t know mine either, do you?” I desperately hoped that he did, it would give me something to hold on to - give _us_ something to hold on to. Instead, he just shook his head.

“This is my point, you say you love me, and I want to say that I love you too - or at least that I think I do, but we don’t even know each other. And that _hurts_ , and now everything with my sisters, I just... I think I need some time, Jean. Some time alone.”

It took me a good few seconds to realise what he was saying.

“Are you... kicking me out?”

“It’s only for a little while, a few days tops, I’m just kind of hurt that you didn’t tell me and I need to _breathe_. I think you do, too. It’s for the best.” I nodded. I knew he was right, but that didn’t stop the shards of glass from sinking deeper into my flesh, settling under my bones. The pain was a part of me now. “You’ve got somewhere you can go, right? Or I could go stay with one of my sisters, they’ve all got places.” I shook my head.

“No, I fucked up. I’ll go crash on Reiner’s couch or something.” I’d run out of emotions to feel. I was past hurting. Marco's features tightened and he looked at me like I was going to fall apart at any second, become a pile of fabric and broken threads with frayed ends.

“Are you sure?” I nodded and left for my room to pack up my things and left Marco standing beside the kitchen table. My lungs were heavy. My chest ached. I should never have let him get through my armour.

 **To: Reiner, 8:19pm**  
**Is it cool if I crash at your place for a couple days?**

God bless Reiner and his fast replies.

 **From: Reiner, 8:20pm**  
**Yeah sure, what’s up?**

 **To: Reiner, 8:20pm**  
**I’ll explain when I get there**

I grabbed my duffel bag that was now filled with the essentials, and clipped a lead onto Fleetwood’s collar.  
In the open plan of the apartment, Marco was still sat at the kitchen table, his fingers smoothing one of the petals of the pink orchid.

“Call me when I can come back,” I said, the words not right leaving my mouth. I didn’t want to go. I couldn’t believe that I _was_. I almost expected him to call me back, to tell me that I should just stay with him and we’d figure it out, but instead he nodded slowly, looking weary and forlorn and it made me feel so guilty. So, so guilty.

I nodded in return and turned my back, leaving the apartment. I closed the door, and that was it. I left for Reiner and Bertholdt’s house with a duffel bag and a dog and my lifeless body.

I didn’t take my heart with me. That belonged to Marco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... It's been so long... I don't even have a good excuse... I'm so sorry.  
> For some reason it took me a really long time to get into this chapter, and I ended up writing over two thirds of it within the past two weeks (oops?)  
> Do continue to comment and stuff and feel free to have a go at me for taking so long to update, I deserve it 
> 
> I have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/UndrctsAndCcnts) and a [Tumblr](http://undercutsandcoconuts.tumblr.com/)


	14. Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky was dark and threatened rain. Or was it snow? I was so numb that I couldn’t decide on the temperature. The roads were layered in thin frost, a death trap of beauty on every corner. Lampposts flickered along the path I walked like an applause and the wind through the naked trees cheered me on like old friends, persuading me to keep moving. It was a half hour walk from the bar to mine and Marco’s apartment, so after finding that the next bus wasn’t for twenty minutes, my only option was to run instead.

_My knee hurt, so the only option that I could see was to cry to my Momma._

_"Oh, Jeanbo, what happened?” She asked, and I had to stop the tears from falling before I could answer her._

" _W-we were playing tag, a-and Nac pushed me too hard and I f-fell over!” The tears started streaming again and I wailed louder as she cradled me, soft shushing sounds coming from between her lips. She sat me on the table and patched a plaster over the cut before she kissed the graze beside it, and I laughed from the tickle of her smile._

_“How’s that, baby?” She stroked my hair back, but I pouted._

" _I’m not a baby, Momma! I’m a big boy!” She closed her eyes and her smile widened._

 _“Of course you are, sweet heart. You’re a young man now, aren’t you?” I nodded enthusiastically. She held her chin with one hand and placed the other on her hip, and then she feigned surprise. “Oh! Speaking of it, isn’t it someone’s birthday next week?” I bounced excitedly on the table, my teeth clenching over my bottom lip as I nodded. “It’s such a shame, Jeanbo, I just_ can’t _remember whose it is!”_

_With that, she whisked away to the other side of the kitchen and I hopped down from the surface to follow her. I tugged at her skirt as she stirred the pot on the stove, and she crouched down to look at me._

_“It’s mine, Momma! Did you really forget?” The ‘s’s in my words whistled slightly from my lack of front teeth. She laughed softly and smoothed my hair, the same sandy shade of blonde as her own, tied into a singular plait down her back that fell to her waist._

_“Of course not, baby.” I frowned again. “Oh, I mean young man, of course.” I beamed._

_“I’m gonna be six, Momma!_ Six!” _I held up seven fingers, and she pushed one of them down for me._

_“You’re growing up so fast, honey,” she smiled again, but her eyes looked suddenly distant, the golden-brown irises becoming somewhat paler as her young face aged a decade within seconds. “I wish your Papa was here to see you more.”_

_“Papa’s never here, I wish it was just us,” I grumbled, and she hit me lightly with a tea towel._

_“Don’t you say such things! Your Papa’s the reason we can have nice things like your toys and clothes and good food like this stew that I’m cooking!” She stood up again, turned the stove off, and added, “Or burning.” I giggled and the smile came back to her face, her teeth just visible from between her lips._

_“But Momma,” I began, “we could do it just us!” She sighed and shook her head, picking me up and letting me sit on the counter beside her as she cooked._

_“That’s not the only reason I put up with him, sugar. I’m in love with your Papa, you know this.” I pulled my eyebrows together and nodded as I looked down at my feet. After a few moments, I looked up again._

_“Why do you always say it like that?_

_“Hm? Like what?” She asked._

_“You always say you’re_ in _love with Papa. What’s the difference between loving someone and being in love?” She stopped moving the wooden spoon around the pot and looked at me for a while before she answered._

_“I love you. You’re my little boy, and you always will be no matter how old you are. With your Papa, it’s different. I fell in love with him ‘soon as I saw him the first time. I love my parents and I love my friends, but I’m in love with your Papa, and I feel I have to say it like that, to show he’s different. It’s a different kind of love, Jeanbo. There’s lots’a different kinds.”_

_I didn’t say anything for a while, contempt with her answer. I sat there, swinging my legs over the side of the counter, her soft humming filling the humid air but her words still echoing in my ears. “It’s a different kind of love, Jeanbo.”_

_“Momma?” I spoke again._

_“Hm?”_

_“How will I know when I’m in love?” Her smile was warm, her eyes crinkling at the corners._

_“You’ll just know, baby. You feel it in your gut."_

Well, now I’ve felt it, Momma. But you never told me it would hurt so bad.

* * *

 My knuckles barely had to touch the door for it to swing open.

A six foot tall blonde block of muscle that sometimes went by the name of Reiner stood in the door in front of me, rays of the hallway light beaming at me through the gaps between him and the frame, illuminating him like he was actually Jesus, my Lord and saviour.

“Are you o--”

“Of course I’m not okay, Reiner.” I dropped my bag and Fleetwood’s lead (who ran straight past an oblivious Reiner and into the flat) and let Reiner’s arms engulf me into one of his bone-crushing hugs that were surprisingly comforting.

“I fucked up so bad, man,” I mumbled into his chest, “so fucking bad.” He let go of me and gripped my shoulders loosely.

“You want to talk about it?” I shrugged, and he moved aside for me to walk in, pity etched into his features.

“I don’t even know. Part of me wants to shut myself off again like I did after Rachel, part of me wants to go crawling back to him, part of me wants to just fall apart and cry.” I dropped down next to Bert on the sofa. “Hey, Bert,” He nodded and smiled. 

“Hey, Jean.” I looked back to Reiner.

“What do I do?” He finally closed the door, turned to lean against it, and scratched his chin.

“Well, I don’t even know what happened, so...” I sighed.

“He found out about his sisters.” I figured it was best to leave out details.

“Oh.”

“What do I do?” He licked his lips and sat on the arm of the sofa beside me.

“Well I mean...” He paused. “Did you apologise?” I winced.

“Uh, not exactly...” Reiner shook his head.

“Well then, I’d start there. March your sorry ass back over there and tell him what he means to you, okay?”

“It was more than that, Reiner, he said we don’t even know each other, and he’s right. We don’t. He asked me what his middle name is and I didn’t know.” He scrunched up his face and adjusted the way he was sat, stalling and unsure of how to respond.

“Yeah, that’s uh. That’s a bit of a problem.”

“Don’t go straight there,” Bertholdt began. I hadn’t expected him to contribute, but I wasn’t complaining. Any advice was good advice. “Leave it a little while. Say nothing for tonight, let him get his thoughts together. Say something tomorrow.” I nodded.

“Thanks, Bert.” He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Trust Bert to know what to do, eh? He’s always got-” Fleetwood barked, and Reiner froze, utter panic in his eyes as he pulled his legs up onto the arm of the sofa _painfully_ slowly.

“Jean. Don’t you _dare_ tell me that you brought that goddamn dog into my house.” I winced. The one time I forgot about his phobia...

“Well what else was I supposed to do with him? He’s my dog, I couldn’t leave him with Marco.”

“Jean, we are seriously gonna fall out if you don’t find that dog right now and make sure it stays the fuck away from me.” I sighed. “No, really. I don’t want that damn thing stinking up my house and leaving hair everywhere it walks that doesn’t disappear for the next five months. I’m shit scared of them.”

“Hairs?”

“ _Dogs,_ Jean.” I snickered and left to search the house for a moment, and it didn’t take me long to find Fleetwood, already curled up in the centre of Reiner and Bertholdt’s double bed.

“Really?” I muttered under my breath as I prodded him in the backside until he jumped off. I gave the duvet a quick sweep over with my hand, hoping to rid it of the dog hairs that Fleetwood was guaranteed to have already shed.

I followed the stubby dog back into the living room where Reiner was still tucked up on the arm of the sofa, now with a broom in his hand, held protectively in front of his chest as his weapon of choice. Bertholdt was stood between him and the bulldog. I sat on the rug central to the room and pulled Fleetwood onto my lap. Reiner relaxed a little.

“So, what’re you gonna do now?” He asked me. I shrugged.

“Probably something stupid.” Reiner laughed, and the three of us fell into a somewhat uncomfortable silence, despite our friendship. The silence, however, was disrupted from the ‘ding’ of my phone from across the room. Reiner picked it up.

“You’ve got an e-mail.”

“Oh? Who from?” I asked.

“petraral@scoutingmusic.com. Ring any bells?” I frowned and shook my head.

“Never heard of it.” I clapped my hands together and then held them open as an indication for him to pass my phone to me, which he did, and then I opened the email. It read:

 

_Dear Mr. Kirschtein._

  _An audio file has been sent in my direction recently via a colleague of mine, of your recording of a song you have written, entitled “Can’t Stand It.” I found this song mood lifting, emotional and intriguing, and would like to hear it on my local radio, through my headphones, or other such places._

  _Although I personally do not have the power to make your (and my) dream a reality, I work very closely with one Levi Ackerman, who is the manager for one Christopher Drew Ingles, who works under the name of NeverShoutNever. I have shown Mr. Ackerman your song and he would like to hear you in the studio for closure on his opinion of the song._

  _Unfortunately, due to the coming month of Christmas, it is unlikely that you will be able to meet Christopher himself, although both Mr. Ackerman and myself would find it a pleasure if you could come to the below address on December 11th, two weeks from today’s date._

  _Please respond ASAP._

  _S_ _incerely;_

_Petra Ral_

_In association with Scouting Music._

 

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

“What is it?” Reiner asked. Instead of answering, I passed him the phone to read it for himself. After a moment, “Holy shit.” And after another moment of Bertholdt catching up, “Holy _shit.”_

“What’re you gonna do, then?” Reiner asked me. I sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it out forcefully, causing my lips to vibrate like a horse’s whinny.

“Well I mean, I’d be stupid not to go, wouldn’t I?” He nodded.

“What about Marco, though? This means you’ve gotta make up by then, doesn’t it?” I frowned.

“You mean you don’t think we will?” He shrugged and made some sort of high pitched ‘eh’ sound.

“Not at this rate. You want my honest advice? Go out tonight, we’ll come with you, and we’ll get a few drinks and celebrate the music thing. Then tomorrow, you go back to your apartment, apologise to Marco, and get that _thing-”_ with a nudge of the broom in Fleetwood’s direction, “-out of my sight. How’s that sound?”

I thought for a moment. How easy would it be to just ignore the argument with Marco, and pretend nothing had happened? _Especially_ when what I was meant to celebrate was solely about him. Though maybe Reiner was right. Bertholdt hadn’t interjected either, which made me feel (albeit only a tiny bit) more comfortable with the idea. But I deserved this. I’d put time and effort into that song and if I deserved anything in my sorry life, it was to celebrate the work I’d done.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.” 

* * *

 The rest of my friend group still went here frequently, but I hadn’t been to this bar in years, the last time being when I celebrated Reiner and Bertholdt’s one year anniversary with the usual group. The place was small and overcrowded, just as I remembered it being. Not enough bar stools and not enough tables with a ratio of alcohol to people at around 6:1. The walls were rather bare, the only exception being the wall behind the bar that was covered in one large mirror, the edges of which were lined with various portraits of famous people who had been here, awards for certain drinks and other such things.

It was sort of nice to be back, despite the thickness and damp texture of sweating drunks in the air. I had a lot of good memories here, and it was almost as though I could see them again in faded light amongst the block colours of reality. Ymir finally kissing Christa for the first time. The conga line we started and managed to get most of the bar involved in. And my personal favourite, Connie tripping and spilling seven beers on some random guy about three times his size, triggering a bar fight and bruises all over for a month to come. He couldn’t walk for a whole week. It’s okay though, he laughs about it too now. Sort of.

Reiner clapped me on the shoulder and pushed me further inside.

“Good to be back, huh?” I nodded and swallowed hard, a contradicting action to the smile tugging at my cheeks.

At the bar was the same man that had worked there years before, the man that my friends and I had come to know rather well. I sat at the bar and waited for him to come over, not expecting him to recognise me at all so much later than the last time we’d been face to face.

The man stopped in his tracks when he saw me, clearly not entirely sure if I was who he thought I was. He did a double take, blinked a few times, and then beamed at me.

“Well colour me surprised,” his smile spread wider and his expression became one of surprise and joy. “Jean Kirschtein! It’s been a while, kid!” I smiled back and didn’t complain when he ruffled my hair.

“How’ve you been, Eld?” I grinned, and he put his hands on his hips and shook his head in disbelief.

“I’ve been pretty good, business’ strong as ever. What about you? Where’ve you been hiding? Reiner here’s still a regular!” He nodded his head towards Reiner at that point, who toasted his glass in response.

“Agh, you know how it is. Life gets in the way and suddenly things are on your mind a lot more than you ever gave them permission to be. People in particular.” Eld nodded again and hummed solemnly.

“A girl nabbed your heart again, son?”

“A guy, but yeah, that’s the general gist.” He hummed again.

“Apologies. We’ve all been there. What’s’a matter then? What’s he done?” Eld leant on the counter in front of me as he stereotypically cleaned the same small patch before him, and I told him everything that I had the willpower to share. I told him everything from Hannah, to when we met, to Thomas, to the meal that night and the relative details in between. All he did was nod as I spoke, and didn’t interrupt once. It was just like a scene from a movie when the protagonist pours their heart out to the bartender. Huh. Never thought I’d refer to myself as a protagonist.

He gave a long whistle, descending in pitch as it went on.

“That’s rough, buddy. That’s real rough. Congratulations on the song though, that’s one hell of an achievement.” I thanked him and we fell into silence for a short moment. “Heck, I haven’t even got you a drink! What’re you wanting?”

“Something strong,” I told him, and he patted my shoulder before leaving to make my drink, revealing a pink orchid behind him with wilted petals. Despite the fact it was dying, it was still the brightest splash of colour in the room.

It’s harder than you’d think to celebrate alone; and I mean totally alone. Apparently Reiner and Bertholdt had found something better to do than mope with me, as I turned in my seat and found that they’d left me. Probably to go make out in a bathroom or something.

I was suddenly cold despite the heat of the room when left alone to my thoughts that were mostly consumed by Marco. Everything made me think of him. The golden dots of glowing light that rippled from the ceiling looked like his freckles, and the lively atmosphere was everything he would have liked. The bar reminded me vaguely of the 80’s club where I realised how I felt, and the dancing and the photo booth and waking up so close to him...

But the hand that touched my shoulder did not feel like his flesh, and the breath that warmed my skin did not feel like his voice. No, it wasn’t Marco that came to sit by me, but it _was_ somebody that I knew. It was somebody that I knew all too well.

“What do you want, Hannah?” She smiled and laughed her flirty, bubbly laugh.

“Nice to see you, too.”

“We both know it’s not.” At that, her tone dropped like a stone.

“Yeah. Yeah, we both know it’s not.” The silence was even more uncomfortable than the previous night, and I was glad when Eld swept past again, albeit briefly. At least then I had my drink to keep my hands busy.

“You’re not gonna buy me a drink?” She said accusingly, to which I scoffed.

“Nope.” I didn’t dare look at her, though I could still see her reflection in the obnoxiously large mirror behind the bar. She didn’t give up the small talk.

“What brings you here?”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m curious.”

“No, you’re nosy.” I turned on my stool to face her. “We broke this off, Hannah. We don’t want anything to do with each other, remember?” She shook her head and her auburn hair flew around her face.

“I don’t remember ever saying that.” I searched for a reply but found nothing. Only empty words and silent noise filled my head as I tried to think of somethingto say. Sure she’d never _said_ it exactly, but I’d always assumed it. It was definitely how _I_ felt, at least.

“Well then, I guess you should’ve thought about losing me before you slept with Eren.”

“Look, I had my reasons!”

“HAH! Your _reasons?_ Then tell me, Hannah. Tell me what made cheating on me _so_ necessary.” Her eyes turned glassy as they filled with tears, and she became desperate to avoid looking me in the eye.

“Look, I... I don’t know why I did it, and now I know you’ve probably moved on and I _know_ you want nothing to do with me, but I can’t feel like that towards you, Jean. I think I’ll always have feelings for you.” My mind was filled with fog, everything forgotten except the things I used to love about her and the things she’d stained forever. All those songs that made me think of her. All those places we wanted to go. All those movies we’d seen and all those chances we had but never took. Such a big portion of my mind was for her, but a bigger part was for Marco.

“I’ve been trying to forget you,” I told her, and all she did was smile sadly.

“I don’t want to forget you,” she rested one hand on my knee. “I want to remember.” The same hand slid up the side of my body to rest on my jaw. “Let me remember one last time, Jean.” She leant towards me as she closed her eyes, just before her soft pink lips came into contact with my own. She kissed me, and like a fool, I kissed her back.

She used to be mine. _I_ used to be _hers._ For so long, she was everything that I wanted. She was everything that I _needed._ She used to be so much to me that, despite everything, it was nice to have her back, just for a moment. To have all of those memories back and feeling so real again was... surreal. It was confusing but intriguing and poisonous but gratifying and a nightmare but a daydream and _wrong, so wrong._ It was so wrong that it was almost right.

Almost.

I pushed her away slowly by the shoulder.

“This is so wrong that there is no literate way to say it.” She frowned.

“Why? We clearly both wanted that,” Anger burned its way up my throat. I desperately didn’t want her to think I wanted her back.

“No, _you_ wanted that! I’ve moved on from you! I don’t need you any more Hannah, I’m with somebody else now!”

“Well you can’t care about her that much if you just kissed me again! Are you stupid? Who is she anyway? That Sasha kid? Is it Ymir?”

“It’s your goddamn brother and I care more about him than I ever have for anyone else! You’re poisonous, and I need you to leave me alone! I was doing just fine without you!” It took me an entire .3 of a second to realise exactly what I’d done. “Well I mean- we’re not _dating-_ we never made it official but- heck, I don’t know _what_ we are at the moment- b-but that’s not to say I’m- ah, fuck.”

When I finally looked up at her, she was sat with her arms folded and one eyebrow raised, the most unimpressed expression I’ve ever seen carved by daggers into her features.

“I guess you had to complete the collection, huh?” I swallowed, and upon trying to speak found that my vocal chords wouldn’t let me. “Just remember that that’s what you said about _me_ before. You said you’d never loved anybody like you loved me.” I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly her fist was tightly gripped around the collar of my shirt and her face was right in front of mine. “You can tear me to shreds if that’s how you feel about me, I don’t blame you, I deserve it. But if you hurt Marco, you better believe that I will make your life a living hell. Am I clear?” I nodded hard and gasped for air when she let go of me.

“I don’t think you understand how much I love him.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think you understand how much I loved you.” She smiled weakly. “I wish you all the best, Jean. You and Marco only deserve to be happy, especially with all the shit he’s been through.” The mention of his past triggered my concern again, and I tried my luck with her.

“What exactly _has_ he been through?” Hannah glowered at me and stood up, though she was still about the same height as me when I remained seated.

“That’s not for me to share with you, he’ll tell you when he’s ready. As for now, I think you should probably go talk to him.”

“But he told me he needed time.”

“He lied, I know my brother. He doesn’t do so well on his own.” She smiled a small smile again and began to walk away, but I tapped her on her shoulder just in time.

“Hey, I- Why are you being so nice to me?” She looked at the floor and tucked her hair behind one ear.

“Let’s just say I’ve done things I’m not proud of, too. Just promise me you’ll look after my big brother, okay?” I nodded.

“I’d do anything for him.” She reached forward, giving my hand one last squeeze and kissing me on the cheek.

“Well, I wish you all the best with the fifth Bodt. This is the fourth, over and out.” With that, she mock-saluted me and swept away through the crowded bar, leaving me alone once more with my thoughts of tangled threads with frayed ends. Though now, they weren’t so tangled. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, talking to her had helped. She really had helped.

I needed to see him again.

I sent Reiner a text telling him I’d pick up my stuff tomorrow and I was out of the door like a shot, ignorant to the November air and blind to the distance I needed to walk. His reply was just to call me stupid, and mine again to tell him that I know. I needed to talk to Marco.

The sky was dark and threatened rain. Or was it snow? I was so numb that I couldn’t decide on the temperature. The roads were layered in thin frost, a death trap of beauty on every corner. Lampposts flickered along the path I walked like an applause and the wind through the naked trees cheered me on like old friends, persuading me to keep moving. It was a half hour walk from the bar to mine and Marco’s apartment, so after finding that the next bus wasn’t for twenty minutes, my only option was to run instead.

I skidded around corners and barely checked for traffic before crossing over roads, my mind too foggy and desperate to comprehend anything, too full and impetuous to do anything sensible at all. I continued to run, though unlike times before, this wasn’t a run of freedom. I wasn’t some excited boy running for revenge on an ex-girlfriend, no. This one wasn’t for Hannah. This time, I was running for myself. Running for him. Running for our memories and our future and to fix our present. For the time I drew on him in sharpie. For the time we waltzed to the Arctic Monkeys. For the time I heard him play piano, for the time we talked about our fears and for the time I fell in love with Marco Bodt. This time, I wasn’t running from anything. I was running towards something. I was running towards Marco.

And you know what, maybe it wasn’t so bad that this had happened to us. Maybe a night to clear the air and for all the secrets to collide was what we needed to refresh whatever relationship we had. I felt better for it, my head was clearer now that I didn’t have to hide such a big part of myself from him. And maybe this was the one thing we _needed_ to come crashing down like that to be able to build the trust back up, and to build ourselves again as people from the bricks we’d left behind when we fell down together.

I ran up the steps to the front of the apartment building and flung myself through the door, climbed the stairs without putting a foot down for more than half a second. To the top floor, I ran, and all the way down to the end of the corridor, to my apartment where I lived with Marco.

Having not stopped running for a moment the entire way, I froze outside the door. Marco was there, inside that room. I could hear the television accompanied by the clunking sound of bottles against more bottles. I rested my forehead against the door, fist poised and ready to knock but without the will power to do it. What would I even say to him? Why was I even _here?_ I began to walk backwards again, lowered my fist and turned to walk away.

No. I wasn’t going to be a coward this time. Before I gave myself another chance to leave, I knocked three times on the door as I wiped my eyes that I didn’t know were damp. I bounced on the balls of my feet, nerves shaking my entire body as I waited. I heard him coming closer, saw the light under the door waver as it became blocked by his shadow. And then, he was there. Stood in front of me in his pyjamas, eyes wide but red and puffy and strained with hair even messier than when he’d just gotten out of bed. And yet, he was there, and still so breathtakingly beautiful. He eyed me up and down, his features full of hope and regret. I swallowed.

“Jean Iven Kirschtein,” I told him. “That’s my full name.” His mouth cracked and the corners of his lips turned upwards into a soft smile before he laughed. One small huff of a laugh, but a laugh all the same. Marco looked at me for a moment, shook his head, and then stepped forwards. He let me hold him as he buried his face deep into the crook of my neck and I smoothed his hair as his arms got tighter around my waist. I felt his tears welling in my collarbone but I didn’t say a word.

“It’s James,” he said finally, voice muffled by my neck. “M’name’s Marco James Bodt.”

“James,” I repeated, the word soft like buttercream. He hummed into my skin and we continued to stand there, contempt with the silent agreement of trying again. In that moment, I was so satisfied, so absolutely fulfilled in the situation and with everything I had with Marco James Bodt - with everything I could learn to treasure. And I was so warm despite the chill of the draft creeping in from underneath doors, and I made it my duty to keep Marco warm, too. To keep him warm and happy and to keep his fire burning.

“We should go inside,” he suggested, so I nodded and followed him in, closing the door behind me.

The apartment smelt distinctly of alcoholic apologies. A fair few beer bottles scattered the floor amongst the various candy wrappers (an exceptional amount of which were Reese’s pieces). The curtains had been drawn, so with the living room light off, the apartment was only dimly lit by the television and the light in the kitchen. Marco immediately began trying to clean things up, frantically picking up the mess and doing one-man relays to the bin.

“Sit down,” I told him, taking him by the waist from behind and guiding him to the sofa. I kissed his forehead and moved over to the kitchen. “We’ll clean this up later or something, I’m getting you some water.” He nodded and turned to lie down across the sofa, knees part-way curled towards his chest. He was so precious. I wondered how I possibly could’ve let myself almost lose him.

I was distracted by a vibration on the counter next to me as I filled a glass with water. Marco’s phone lit up to display that he had an incoming call from Thomas Wagner. I frowned.

“Hey, you’ve got a call-”

“Ignore it, he’s been trying to get to me all night.” I frowned again and continued to stare at the screen until the ringing stopped. Instead of showing his lock screen photo, two notifications blurred the background. Three missed calls and four unread messages, all from Thomas Wagner. I turned away with the water in my hand to join Marco, curious of what Thomas so desperately wanted, but cautious to avoid the subject unless he brought it up himself, which he did. “He wants to get back with me. I told him no but he doesn’t seem to get it.” I handed him the water. “Thanks.”

“You want me to go beat him up for you?” I asked, manoeuvring myself into a more comfortable position that involved contact with Marco, and upon finally finding said position, kissing his cheek. Marco snorted.

“You? Beat him up?” I mock-slapped him and frowned.

“Fine, you want me to get _Reiner_ to beat him up for you?” He laughed, which made me laugh, and he shoved his hand into my face to get me to shut up. “Oi! Really though, what’re you gonna do about it?” He shrugged.

“I dunno. Keep ignoring him, I guess.” I shook my head. That wouldn’t work, I’d learnt that from personal experience. You just walk further and further into a gigantic maze that both of you are in, somewhere, but neither of you know where. You’re bound to bump into each other at some point, and then it’s just all the more difficult when you do. There are so many loose ends and so many situations still cloudy. There are so many things you never confirmed nor declined and therefore you might both have entirely different opinions of each other by the next time you come face to face. Yeah. Been there, done that.

“You’ve gotta call him back, tell him you’re not interested,” I told him. “Things’ll only get worse if you don’t.” Marco sighed, and after a moment, nodded as he stood up to retrieve his phone from the other side of the room. I sat and watched him dial, take a deep breath, and put the phone to his ear. Then I listened to the one side of the brief conversation that I could hear.

“Thomas? Hi, yeah it’s Marco ... mhm, I just saw them ... actually uh, I’m kinda with another guy now ... his name’s Jean ... you know that’s really not your place to say ... did you ever even meet him? ... It’s more than that ... No, I love him, I’m not having this conversation with you. Goodbye, Thomas.” And he hung up the phone. I stared at him, open mouthed, and as soon as he realised what he’d done his hand slowly came up to cover his mouth as he stared at his phone.

“Love or in love?” I asked him, careful to be cautious and without approaching him. I crossed my fingers behind my back and didn’t dare look at him, terrified of what he’d say. One afraid of rejection and one afraid of falling in love.

One of us was about to face our biggest fear.

He turned around, but his eyes didn’t leave the floor. His left hand gripped the counter behind him as the other fell limp at his side, and his face remained blank as though he was trying to process something. Meanwhile, in _my_ head, everything was frantic. Possibilities and memories filled my mind like paint upon a canvas, splashes of colour unveiling every good thing that could happen, pushing the positives to the front of my mind. They sang the colours to me, painted them into my brain. But were they paintbrushes? Or were they erasers? There were certain directions that our position could turn in that would remove everything we stood for. Ways that we could go that would remove _him._ I didn’t want that. I couldn’t cope with that.

“I think...” He hesitated, pausing to look up at me. “ _In_ love. I think I’m in love with you, Jean.”

Paint. Thank god it was paint.

I ran across the room towards him with my arms outstretched and let my body engulf him, despite being shorter. I trailed kisses up his neck and he complained that my hair tickled, but I didn’t stop until my lips were firmly around his. I pulled him backwards until we collapsed on the sofa together, tangled in each other’s limbs, where I kissed him again. Deep and passionate at first, but it subsided into a series of shorter ones, brief declarations of “I’m in love with you” from each of us in turn between each kiss.

His lips were sweet and his cheeks were red. When I pointed it out he told me to shut up, and that I was stupid. He was the third person to call me that in the space of about three hours, but I didn’t mind hearing it from him. I was in love with Marco James Bodt, and he was in love with me, too. And let me tell you, it was the most blissful feeling to finally know what that felt like.

So thank you, Momma. Thank you for teaching me what love is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY TO THE FIFTH BODT!!!  
> Ahh! I've been manically writing this chapter over the past couple of days so that I had somethin to upload tonight!  
> I can't believe it's already been a whole year *wheeze* but apparently it has. I actually read back over the first chapter today just out of curiosity and uh. Hm. No comment there.
> 
> I just want to say thank you so so so much for all the support I've ever recieved for this fic, especially as it's my first, and for bearing with me through all of this and through my excruciatingly slow updates at times (for example, this one). It really means the world to me that so many people have read this and appreciate my writing, so honestly, thank you<3
> 
> Edit: I forgot to mention a couple things!  
> 1\. I'm super sorry updates here have been so sluggish here. I'm actually working on two original projects as well as TFB at the moment, one of which I'm incredibly attached to atm so that kinda has a lot of my focus rn.  
> 2\. I'm currently on my summer break so with any luck this fic /should/ get some more attention???  
> 3\. I actually have another thingy up here on Ao3 called A Little Jar of Stardust! So if you want to check out some more of my writing, you can find that [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3638019/chapters/8036580)  
> 4\. I have a [tumblr](http://causesconfusion.tumblr.com/)  
> 5\. I love you. Yeah, you.


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